THE  LIBRARY  ' 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


NORKOMA 


A    NOVEL 


BY 


GEORGE   B.  GRIGGS 

STATE   SENATOR 


HOUSTON,  TEXAS. 
J.  V.  DEALT   COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 

1906. 


Cypyright,  1906.  by  GEORGE  B.  GRIGGS". 


A II  rights  reserved. 

Published  March.  1906. 


-vj 


TO  MY  FRIEND 

Robert  T.  Daniel  of  Griffin,  Georgia, 
the  silver-tongued  orator  of  the  South 
— -who  is  as  gentle  as  a  -woman;  as 
noble  as  a  lord;  as  loving  as  a  brother; 
charitable  toivard human  frailties;  loyal 
to  friend;  generous,  patriotic,  true — do 
I  dedicate  this  my  poor  effort. 

The  Author. 
Houston,  Texas,  March  isth,  igo6. 


751778 


ILLUSTRATIONS. 

THE  BIRTH  PLACE  OP  TEXAS Frontispiece 

THE  LITTLE  GOLDEN  LOCKET       16 

"I'LL  SUE  HIM  TO-MORROW  FOR  THAT  MONEY."    .    .    .  128 

"THE  PEOPLE  ARE  ALREADY  DEMANDING  JUSTICE- 
EQUAL  JUSTICE  To  ALL  ALIKE" 160 

"OLD  AUNT  DINAH" 216 

"THE  ALAMO"    .    .    , 296 

"I  CAME  To  TEXAS  FOR  No  OTHER   PURPOSE  THAN 

To  WIN  You,  DOROTHY" 304 

THE  TEXAS  COMMISSIONERS  364 


NORKOMA 


NORKOMA 

CHAPTER  I. 
"LITTLE  NORKOMA." 

"What  yo'  speck  yo'  is  gwine  ter  be  good  fo',  'Koma,  when 
yo'  is  done  growed  to  be  a  big  man?" 

"I  don't  know,  mam — " 

"Now,  doan  call  me  dat.  I'se  Aunt  Dinah,  an'  I  haint  bin 
nothin'  else  sens  long  befo'  de  wah.  'Cose,  I  aint  yo'  Aunt, 
an'  I  don  speck  yo's  got  an  Aunt — but  its  a  fack,  jes  as  sho's 
yo'  is  bawn,  yo's  done  got  some  relashuns  of  some  kind  what 
is — what  is  somebody." 

"Have  I,  Aunt  Dinah  — and  will  my  mamma  come  for 
me?" 

"Fo'  de  Lawd  sakes,  chile!  What  will  yo'  be  axin  next? 
I  doan  speck  yo's  got  a  mammy,  nor  a  pappy  nuther.  Yo' 
clar  right  out  o'  heah  now — go  'long  and  larn  to  sell  dem 
papahs,  'case  yo'  knows  dis  ole  niggah  caint  spote  yo'  widout 
yo'  larn  to  do  somethin'  to  help  along." 

With  the  delivery  of  this  command,  "Aunt  Dinah"  entered 
the  little  cabin  she  was  wont  to  call  her  home,  her  spacious 
body  sorely  taxing  the  doorway  as  she  passed  through,  leav 
ing  little  Norkoma  standing  on  the  curbstone,  a  few  stray 


NORKOMA 

copies  of  daily  papers  grasped  tightly  'neath  his  arm.  His 
childish  face,  surrounded  by  a  bright  cloud  of  tangled  curls 
from  under  which  peeped  deep,  intelligent  eyes  of  blue,  wore 
a  look  of  perplexity,  as  if  the  weight  of  a  first  great  trouble 
was  being  felt.  After  a  few  moments'  hesitation  the  little 
lad  of  but  five  years  was  calling  his  papers  and  endeavoring 
in  the  usual  newsboy  fashion  to  dispose  of  them,  the  expe 
rience  to  be  gained  from  the  effort  being  by  far  the  greater 
consideration. 

"Evening  papers  here,  sir;  papers, — evening  papers,"  he 
called  in  his  childish  voice  as  he  ran  along,  wistfully  extend 
ing  a  paper  to  the  passerby  and  greeting  each  with  a  be 
seeching  look  that  meant  far  more  than  he  was  able  to 
convey  in  words.  Success  did  not  crown  the  child's  efforts, 
heroic  as  they  were,  to  dispose  of  his  supply  of  papers,  and 
the  drooping  eyelids  and  quivering  lips  told  plainly  the 
disappointment  that  he  keenly  felt.  But  the  memory  of 
"Aunt  Dinah's"  stern  command  lingered  with  him,  and  after 
a  few  moments'  hesitation  he  again  started  slowly  up  the 
street,  calling  his  papers  even  louder  than  before. 

"Evening  paper,  sir?"  he  queried,  and  in  his  childish 
way  scrutinized  the  faces  of  those  he  met,  as  if  among  them 
he  hoped  to  find  a  friend — someone  who  would  share  with 
him  the  burden  which  was  rapidly  becoming  too  heavy  to 
be  longer  borne  alone — and  mechanically  held  out  a  paper 
as  an  inducement  to  a  chance  purchaser. 

"Papers,  evening  papers,"  he  called,  as  the  pent-up  tears 
forced  their  way  through  the  barriers  which  until  now  had 
stubbornly  held  them  in  check. 

"Why,  hello,   little   fellow.     Aren't  you  rather  youthful 


"LITTLE  NORKOMA" 

to  be  in  the  news  business  ?    And  how  about  your  papers  — 
not  all  sold  yet,  eh?" 

The  kindly  voice  of  the  stranger,  a  tall,  handsome  young 
man,  of  pleasant  appearance  and  irresistible  manner,  in 
stantly  gained  the  confidence  of  the  child. 

"Oh,  please  buy  a  paper,  mister!"  begged  the  lad,  man 
fully  choking  down  the  sobs  that  threatened  to  drown  his 
words. 

"Certainly  I'll  buy  a  paper — I'll  buy  all  the  papers  you 
have.  Here's  your  money,  and  you  may  keep  the  papers. 
Now,  tell  me,  won't  you,  where  you  live?" 

"In  that  little  house  down  there,"  answered  the  child, 
pointing  toward  a  diminutive  dwelling  situated  in  the  next 
block.  "Aunt  Dinah  and  me,  we  live  there." 

"And  who  is  Aunt  Dinah?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  who  she  is,  but  I  live  with  her." 

"Have  you  no  home  but  the  one  with  Aunt  Dinah  — have 
you  no  father  nor  mother?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,  but  I  think  papa  and  mamma  are 
dead.  Aunt  Dinah  says  I  have  no  papa  nor  mamma." 

"What  is  your  name?" 

"Aunt  Dinah  calls  me  Norkoma." 

This  brief  conversation  was  sufficient  to  convince  the 
stranger  that  ISTorkoma  was  exceptionally  bright  and  intelli 
gent,  and  he  thought  of  the  success  the  boy  might  achieve 
as  he  grew  from  boyhood  to  manhood,  should  Dame  For 
tune  but  firmly  retain  the  hold  of  him  that  she  undoubt 
edly  had  during  the  early  days  and  months  of  his  exist 
ence.  He  thought,  too,  of  his  own  childless  home,  of  the 
infinite  pleasure  it  would  be  to  watch  the  growth  and  de 
velopment  of  a  child  like  Norkoma;  he  wished  the  boy  were 


NORKOMA 

his  own.  From  appearances  it  was  evident  that  the  little 
fellow  received  scant  care;  and  he  thought  of  what  he 
would  be  able  to  do  for  him — how  he  would  educate  him 
and  prepare  him  to  successfully  fight  life's  battles.  He 
found  himself  combating  every  argument  "Aunt  Dinah'* 
might  make  against  his  taking  Norkoma,  and  calculating  as 
to  the  time  it  would  take  to  prepare  him  for  the  journey 
to  his  Southern  home. 

During  this  reverie,  Norkoma  stood  gazing  wistfully  into 
the  stranger's  face  as  if  he  partly  understood  what  was 
passing  through  his  mind.  The  man  gazed  into  the  frank, 
open  eyes  of  the  boy,  and  asked: 

"Would  you  like  to  go  with  me,  Norkoma,  and  live  in  a 
nice,  big  house,  with  a  great,  green  lawn  where  you  could 
run  and  play,  and  have  nice  clothes  to  wear  and  plenty  of 
good  things  to  eat?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  Aunt  Dinah  wouldn't  let  me  go  with  you; 
I  am  sure  she  wouldn't,  because  she  wants  me  to  sell  papers 
and  earn  money  for  her." 

"I  think  she  will  let  you  go.  Anyway,  we  will  ask  her," 
and  they  passed  down  the  street  to  where  "Aunt  Dinah" 
lived.  It  took  but  a  short,  secret  conference  to  make  the 
necessary  arrangements  with  Aunt  Dinah,  and  a  few  mo 
ments  later  the  stranger  and  the  little  boy  were  in  one  of 
the  largest  stores  in  the  city.  It  required  but  a  brief  while 
to  transform  this  street  urchin  into  a  handsome,  well  groomed 
lad.  During  the  exchange  of  clothing,  the  stranger  noticed 
a  fine  gold  chain  about  the  child's  neck,  from  which  wa> 
suspended  a  gold  locket  containing  the  miniature  of  a  young 
and  beautiful  woman,  together  with  a  lock  of  hair.  Upon 
the. locket  was  engraved  the  word  "Nor ma." 


"LITTLE  NORKOMA" 

The  Limited  Express  south,  that  night,  dashed  with  light 
ning  speed  through  ravines,  tunnels  and  gorges,  over  cul 
verts,  bridges  and  broad  prairies.  The  iron  horse  that  pulled 
it,  shrieked  and  panted  like  a  fiery  demon,  spitting  forth 
great  clouds  of  sparks  that  gyrated  through  the  dense  black 
ness  of  the  night  like  so  many  fireflies.  There  was  a  vivid 
flash  of  lightning,  a  deafening  peal  of  thunder,  a  sudden 
burst  of  rain  and  hail  against  the  windows  and  upon  the  tin- 
covered  coach  roof,  and  a  shrill  shriek  of  the  locomotive  as 
it  pierced  the  oncoming  storm  with  a  power  almost  incon 
ceivable.  The  wind,  arising  to  a  mighty  gale,  rolled  up 
great  clouds  of  dust  and  smoke  in  the  wake  of  the  train, 
while  it  rushed  on  as  if  anxious  to  be  free  from  the  noise 
and  din  it  had  encountered,  and  of  which  it  was  itself  a 
part. 

In  one  of  the  Pullman  coaches  sat  a  man  and  a  little  fair- 
haired  boy.  The  child  crept  shyly  into  the  corner  of  the 
seat,  protecting  as  best  he  could  his  eyes  and  ears  from  the 
scene  and  noise  about  him.  Trembling  as  if  chilled  by  the 
cold  rain  outside,  at  every  peal  of  thunder,  at  every  shriek 
of  the  locomotive,  the  little  fellow  crept  closer,  if  possible, 
into  the  corner  of  the  seat,  but  neither  did  he  cry  nor  utter 
a  word  of  fear. 

"Don't  be  afraid,  Islorkoma,  I  will  take  good  care  of  you," 
said  the  man  in  kind,  soft  tones  calculated  to  inspire  con 
fidence  and  affection,  constantly  assuring  the  child  of  his 
love,  care  and  protecting  hand,  until  the  storm  and  noise 
soon  lost  their  terror,  and  sweet  sleep  breathed  her  anaes 
thetic  breath  upon  him,  bringing  rest  and  repose  as  soothing 
as  a  mother's  loving  kiss. 

The  stranger  leaned  tenderly  over  the  sleeping  child  and 


arranged  him  comfortably  in  the  seat.  To  him  there  was 
something  pathetic  in  the  faith  which  the  homeless  boy  had 
shown  by  his  readiness  to  leave  "Aunt  Dinah"  and  her 
hovel,  the  only  mother  and  the  only  home  he  knew.  The 
lights  burned  low,  and  all  was  still  save  the  constant  rumbling 
of  the  swiftly  moving  train,  and  the  "click-click,  click-click" 
of  the  rear  trucks  as  they  passed  over  the  joints  in  the 
track. 

The  train  thundered  on  with  seldom  a  stop.  The  first 
streaks  of  the  early  dawn  streamed  in  through  the  coach 
windows,  announcing  the  approach  of  day.  The  tops  of 
the  tall  pines  waved  in  the  early  breeze  as  if  bowing  their 
thanks  to  the  god  of  light.  The  feathered  songsters,  aroused 
from  their  morning  nap  by  the  passing  train,  spread  out 
their  little  wings,  chirped,  then  flitted  gayly  to  another 
branch.  The  cattle  in  the  barn  yards  slowly  roused  them 
selves,  stretched  their  limbs  and  mooed  pathetically  to  one 
another.  The  cheery  milk-maid,  in  checked  apron  and  sun- 
bonnet,  with  her  sleeves  rolled  high,  and  a  bucket  upon  her 
arm,  could  be  heard  singing  as  she  tripped  lightly  along  the 
path  to  the  pasture.  The  pale  smoke,  slowly  curling  up  from 
the  kitchen  chimneys,  told  of  the  preparation  of  the  morning 
meal.  Daylight  had  at  last  come;  all  nature  was  awake. 
The  train  reached  the  long  trestle  over  Lake  Pontchartrain 
and  the  mad  rush  was  now  moderated  as  it  crept  along  the 
bridge  that  spans  this  great  southern  body  of  water. 

The  clouds  of  black  smoke,  ascending  into  the  air  from 
the  smokestack  of  the  locomotive,  cast  fanciful  shadows 
upon  the  crystal  surface  of  the  waters  below.  At  intervals, 
schools  of  porpoise  were  seen  frolicking  in  the  placid  waters, 
as  if  in  welcome  of  the  new  day.  The  great  golden  orb  of 


"LITTLE  NORKOMA" 

light  slowly  lifted  itself  above  the  eastern  line  where  lake 
and  sky  seemed  to  meet,  imparting  its  half  transcript  upon 
the  bosom  of  the  transparent  plane.  The  broad,  peaceful 
waves  seemed  like  great  sheets  of  silver  spreading  out  to 
meet  the  welcome  beams  of  the  king  of  day.  The  guilded 
domes  of  the  city  in  the  distance,  glittering  under  the  sun's 
bright  rays,  were  like  so  many  mountains  of  gold  bestudding 
the  far-off  southern  sky,  while  the  tall  church  steeples 
and  spires  were  as  index  fingers  pointing  the  weary  traveler 
to  a  haven  of  rest. 

The  lake  crossed,  the  quiet,  peaceful  scene  changes  like 
magic  as  the  train  speeds  along  through  the  suburbs  of  the 
city.  There  are  stops  for  crossings,  the  passing  of  suburban 
trains,  the  shrill  whistle  of  locomotives,  the  hurrying  of 
passengers,  the  cry  of  newsboys,  the  rumbling  of  carts  upon 
the  cobbled  streets,  the  rasping  release  of  the  airbrakes,  the 
deafening  din  of  the  breakfast  gong,  the  trainmen's  shrill 
cry  of  "New  Orleans,"  and  the  passengers  of  the  Southern 
Limited  Express  are  soon  engulfed  in  the  busy  throngs  of 
the  great  Southern  City. 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  II. 
"THE  CEDARS." 

"The  Cedars"  is  one  of  the  handsomest  old  homesteads 
in  the  city  of  New  Orleans,  if  not,  indeed,  in  the  whole  south 
land.  Not  that  its  original'  cost  was  so  great,  nor  because 
it  is  so  unique  in  design  as  compared  with  modern  ideas 
of  architecture,  but  because  nature  has  endowed  it  with  a 
magnificent  beauty  that  the  skill  of  the  architect  and  artisan 
cannot  approach.  If  one  were  to  attempt  to  describe  this  old 
homestead  with  a  view  of  portraying  its  beauty,  he  would  stop 
and  ponder  over  the  many  things  that  go  to  make  up  the 
whole,  then  begin  again,  and  again  stop  and  ponder,  and 
so  on  indefinitely,  or  at  least  until  he  must  needs  give  up 
in  despair. 

A  slight  conception  may  be  had  of  its  character  and  ap 
pearance  as  viewed  from  the  broad,  well  paved  avenue  run 
ning  along  the  front.  The  place  consists  of  an  entire  block 
of  ground  and  is  surrounded  by,  or  fringed  with  a  double 
row  of  tall,  healthy  cedar  trees.  On  three  sides,  leading 
up  from  beautifully  paved  streets  toward  a  central  amphi 
theatre-like  plot  where  stands  the  building,  are  walks  and 
drives,  which  are  also  bordered  with  cedar  and  fir  trees  that 
rear  their  tall  heads  far  toward  the  sunny  skies.  The  spaces 
between  the  walks  and  drives  are  filled  with  shrubbery, 

8 


flowers,  pools  and  sparkling  fountains,  with  "here  and  there 
a  cozy  nook  or  rustic  glen,  where  lovers  oft  are  wont  to 
steal  and  for  the  while  the  world  forget,  and  by  the  world 
to  be  forgotten. 

Rising  out  of  the  center  of  this  plot  of  shrubbery  and 
blooming  flowers  is  the  palatial  residence,  overlooking  the 
placid  water  of  Lake  Pontchartrain.  Supported  by  huge, 
white  marble  columns,  are  broad  galleries  surrounding  the 
building,  upon  which  open  numerous  large  French  windows, 
leading  from  the  various  rooms,  making  a  most  inviting  re 
treat  for  the  enjoyment  of  the  balmy  breezes  of  both  lake  and 
gulf- 

"The  Cedars"  was  the  home  of  LeBerte  Marchand  and  his 
young  and  beautiful  wife  at  the  time  of  the  occurrence  of 
the  incidents  narrated  in  the  foregoing  chapter.  This  beau 
tiful  home  came  to  LeBerte  Marchand  by  inheritance,  from 
his  father,  LeRoy  Marchand,  who  for  many  years  before 
the  civil  war  was  a  wealthy  planter.  Like  many  of  his  fel 
low  countrymen,  however,  the  greater  portion  of  his  vast 
wealth  was  consumed  by  the  ravages  of  the  cruel  conflict 
between  the  states.  The  war  also  undermined  his  physical 
vigor  and  energy,  which  condition  soon  invited  disease  and 
hurried  him  to  his  grave.  His  depleted  estate,  consisting 
chiefly  of  "The  Cedars,"  therefore,  fell  to  his  only  son  and 
heir,  LeBerte  Marchand. 

Fortunately,  the  new  owner,  a  lawyer  by  profession,  was 
possessed  of  a  splendid  law  practice  at  the  time  of  the 
father's  death,  and  was  not  only  able  financially  to  retain 
this  magnificent  property,  but  with  the  small  fortune  that 
came  by  his  marriage,  he  was  also  able  to  re-establish  and 
maintain  its  old  time  hospitable  reputation. 


NORKOMA 

Not  a  few  were  they  who  were  pleased  to  boast  of  having 
shared  the  lavish  hospitality  of  "The  Cedars"  in  times  gone 
by,  nor  indeed  were  these  all  of  the  common  herd.  Keport 
has  it  that  "The  Cedars"  was  the  very  center  of  Southern 
hospitality,  having  frequently  entertained  some  of  the  world's 
best  knflwn  diplomats,  as  well  as  many  foreign  and  domestic 
celebrities. 

Since  it  had  come  into  the  possession  of  the  new  owner, 
"The  Cedars"  gradually  assumed  a  different,  although,  per 
haps,  not  a  more  pleasing  appearance  than  that  which  had 
marked  it  during  its  former  period  of  prosperity.  The  old 
and  roughly  fashioned  stone  posts  which  supported  a  low 
picket  fence  that  surrounded  the  grounds  are  replaced  by 
those  of  a  neat  iron  design,  while  the  wooden  pickets  have 
given  way  to  a  fancy  net-work  of  iron  and  steel.  The  grav 
eled  walks  and  drives  were  beautiful  in  former  days,  but  the 
smooth  asphalt  has  rendered  them  even  more  beautiful.  In 
fact,  the  shrubbery,  flowers,  fountains,  rustics  and  build 
ings — all  have  felt  the  artist's  skillful  touch,  giving  the 
appearance  of  new  life,  new  blood  and  new  vigor,  and  in 
Its  new  attire,  under  the  management  of  the  new  master 
and  his  estimable  wife,  "The  Cedars"  again  makes  its  debut 
before  the  societe  elite  of  the  Crescent  City,  regaining  all 
the  popularity  of  its  former  days. 

During  the  first  three  years  of  their  married  life  LeBerte 
Marchand  and  his  devoted  wife  lived  in  this  veritable  para 
dise,  always  planning,  always  adding  something  to  make 
their  home  more  and  more  enchanting.  In  the  happy,  care 
less  moments  of  those  three  years  devoted  to  beautifying 
their  home  and  arranging  for  the  momentary  pleasure  of 
their  friends  and  the  constant  train  of  guests,  they  found 

10 


"THE   CEDARS" 

no  time  to  trespass  upon  the  future — upon  the  years  to 
come  — when  gay  youth  has  been  mellowed  by  the  possible 
pangs  of  pain,  or  ripened  into  a  blessed  companionship  that 
forgets  the  gaudy  toys  of  childhood  days,  encouraging  more 
sober  thoughts  and  maturer  ideas  concerning  the  objects 
of  life. 

The  continual  strain  upon  the  constitution  of  those  who 
court  the  goddess  of  society  is  sufficient  to  demand  a  halt 
in  the  social  career  of  many  who  were  far  stronger  than 
was  Mrs.  Marchand,  and  that  period  had  now  been  reached 
in  the  social  life  of  the  mistress  of  "The  Cedars."  It  brought 
with  it  the  opportunity  for  more  sober  reflections  upon  the 
things  that  are  not  the  vanities  of  life. 

Sc  it  was  that  husband  and  wife  found  themselves,  as 
they  sat  upon  the  east  gallery  watching  the  silver  rays  of 
the  clear  full  moon  playing  upon  the  crystal  waters  of  a 
sparkling  fountain  near  by.  They  had  been  conversing  upon 
matters  more  seriously  than  had  been  their  custom  in  the 
past,  when  the  husband  said : 

"Helen,  dear,  do  you  realize  that  we  have  devoted  three  of 
the  best  years  of  our  lives  to  the  beautifying  of  our  home 
and  to  the  pleasure  and  entertainment  of  our  friends  ?  But 
at  times  I  cannot  get  rid  of  the  feeling  that  the  home  is 
still  incomplete  — that  there  is  something  lacking  to  give 
us  the  happiness  we  have  both  been  seeking." 

"Yes,"  answered  the  wife,  "the  home  is  incomplete,  but, 
indeed,  'Berte,  I  do  not  know  the  cause.  We  have  books, 
music,  paintings,  beautiful  surroundings,  in  fact  everything 
to  make  it  complete,  yet  I  must  confess  that  I  share  the 
feeling  with  you  that  there  is  something  lacking,  although 
I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  what  it  is.  Do  you  know?" 

11 


NORKOMA 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,  but  I  may  be  mistaken.  It  may  be 
restlessness  on  my  part,  a  desire  to  carry  still  farther  my 
efforts  to  beautify  'The  Cedars.'  " 

"If  I  but  knew  what  it  is  that  our  home  lacks,  I  would  not 
let  another  day  pass  without  making  an  effort  to  obtain  it," 
answered  the  wife. 

Her  simple  purity  of  mind,  her  eagerness  to  please  those 
whom  she  loved  were  characteristics  well  known  to  her  hus 
band,  but  upon  this  occasion  it  seemed  to  him  there  was 
something  deeper  in  her  bosom  not  meant  to  be  wholly  di 
vulged.  There  was,  however,  a  sympathetic  chord  struck, 
the  music  of  which  they  had  never  before  jointly  heard.  It 
was  music  rare  and  sweet,  and  they  sat  in  silence  and  medi 
tation  like  those  who  for  the  first  time  are  enjoying  "love's 
young  dream"  until  they  were  aroused  by  the  great  clock  in 
the  hall  striking  the  midnight  hour.  In  silence,  husband 
and  wife  arose,  and  interlocked  in  each  other's  arms,  entered 
their  rooms  through  the  great  French  windows.  It  can  only 
be  conjectured  that  the  wife  later  succeeded  in  obtaining  a 
knowledge  of  her  husband's  unexpressed  thoughts  upon  the 
question  of  the  one  needed  thing  in  their  household. 

About  a  week  after  the  incident  just  narrated,  Mr.  Mar- 
chand,  upon  his  return  home  from  a  distant  city,  where  he 
had  been  upon  important  legal  business,  brought  back  with 
him  a  great  surprise  for  the  mistress  of  "The  Cedars."  Re 
turning  by  an  early  train  he  arrived  at  "The  Cedars"  before 
it  had  taken  on  its  usual  activity  and  animation.  The  morn 
ing  was  a  perfect  one  — clear,  bright,  cool  and  invigorating. 
The  early  sun  had  just  peeped  over  the  neighboring  house 
tops  and  sifted  its  golden  light  through  the  foliage  of  the 
trees,  casting  yellow  spots  upon  the  velvety  green  lawn.  The 

12 


"THE   CEDARS" 

birds  sang  their  gleeful  songs  and  chirped  in  the  boughs  and 
branches  of  the  great  cedars.  The  faithful  old  watch  dog 
came  slowly  down  one  of  the  walks,  wagging  his  tail  in 
friendly  fashion,  as  the  iron  gates  flew  open  to  admit  the 
carriage  conveying  the  welcome  traveler.  The  old  colored 
servant  stood  in  the  doorway  to  welcome  home  the  master  of 
"The  Cedars/'  to  whom  she  addressed  the  following : 

"De  missus  is  not  done  got  up  as  yit,  but  I  specks  she  will 
not  be  long  'bout  makin'  her  'pearance  now  dat  de  marse 
has  done  come." 

"Well,  go  tell  your  mistress,  auntie,  that  two  gentlemen 
have  arrived  and  are  awaiting  her  presence  in  the  morning 
room.  Then  make  haste  with  the  breakfast,  for  we  are  as 
hungry  as  wolves,  aren't  we  Nbrkoma?" 

"Yes,  sah;  yes,  sah,  Marse  Berte,  yo'  old  auntie  will  'tend 
to  dat  dis  blessed  minute,"  answered  the  servant,  eyeing  the 
boy  as  she  bowed  and  shambled  out  of  the  room  in  obedience 
to  her  master's  command. 

The  two  gentlemen  had  not  long  to  wait,  for  in  a  few 
moments  Mrs.  Marchand  appeared,  robed  in  a  dainty  silk 
morning  gown,  tripped  lightly  across  the  room  to  her  hus 
band,  with  open  arms  and  upturned  lips  she  extended  such 
a  greeting  and  welcome  as  only  true  love  and  devoted  affec 
tion  can  give. 

"Now,  Helen,  dear,  let  me  introduce  you  to  the  other 
gentleman  — little  Norkoma,  our  own  Norkoma,  our  son. 
Norkoma,  this  is  your  mamma;  won't  you  kiss  her?"  said 
the  husband.  Mrs.  Marchand  stood  at'  first  amazed,  then 
quickly  comprehending  the  truth,  she  turned  and  caught 
the  words  of  the  child  as  they  fell  from  his  innocent  lips: 

"Oh,  yes,  sir;  I  love  my  mamma,"  and  he  held  out  his 


NORKOMA 

dimpled  little  hands  and  raised  his  bright  face  toward  Mr?. 
Marchand  as  she  caught  him  in  her  arms  and  pressed  him 
close  to  her  bosom. 

"Oh,  what  a  sweet  child,  our  little  boy,  our  Norkoma,"  she 
cried,  as  she  held  the  child's  face  near  her  own  and  rained 
showers  of  kisses  upon  his  lips,  his  bright  blue  eyes  and 
his  golden  hair.  The  husband  turned  hastily  and  brushed 
away  a  tear  that  had  forced  itself  upon  his  cheek. 

LeBerte  Marchand  was  at  heart  a  good  man  — a  good 
man  in  all  the  daily  walks  of  life.  This  scene  was  one  he 
had  witnessed  all  the  night  and  all  the  morning  in  his  mind's 
eye,  and  it  filled  his  heart  to  overflowing.  The  happy  look, 
the  tears  of  joy  that  trickled  down  o'er  her  cheeks  told  him 
more  plainly  than  words  could  possibly  have  expressed  the 
happiness  that  he  had  brought  to  the  heart  of  his  wife  that 
morning.  It  was  more  than  he  could  well  bear,  and,  after 
several  attempts  to  speak,  he  quickly  left  the  room,  saying 
in  his  heart:  "God  bless  my  dear  wife — God  bless  them 
both." 

After  calming  himself,  Mr.  Marchand  instructed  the  ser 
vant  to  prepare  Norkoma  for  breakfast,  which  was  accord 
ingly  done,  although  Mrs.  Marchand  seemed  loth  to  give  up 
possession  of  the  child  for  even  so  short  a  time.  As  the 
servant  returned  and  announced  that  breakfast  was  waiting, 
the  husband,  in  a  kind  and  sympathetic  voice,  asked : 

"\My  darling  wife,  can  you  now  guess  what  it  was  our 
home  lacked  to  make  it  perfect?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  soft,  sweet  answer,  and  quickly  throwing 
her  arms  about  her  husband's  neck,  and  looking  into  his 
face  with  a  pair  of  the  happiest,  brightest  eyes,  Helen  said: 

"Yes,  my  dear  husband,  our  home  lacked  a  child." 

14 


THE  GOLDEN  LOCKET 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  GOLDEN  LOCKET. 

Happy  had  been  the  three  years  just  passed  to  the  mis 
tress  of  "The  Cedars,"  but  not  to  be  compared  with  the 
happiness  that  now  filled  her  heart,  her  soul,  her  very  being, 
since  Xorkoma  had  been  in  their  home.  Late  hours  in  social 
circles  had  been  abandoned,  and  early  morning  hours  — hours 
that  bring  vigor,  and  paint  roses  upon  the  cheeks  — had 
been  instituted.  Daily  walks  and  drives  in  the  fresh  autumn 
air,  with  Norkoma  for  a  companion,  proved  not  only  ex 
tremely  pleasant,  but  health-giving  and  beneficial  as  well. 

The  husband,  engaged  with  his  numerous  clients  and  their 
"important  cases,"  never  allowed  his  business  affairs  to  so 
engross  his  attention  as  to  estrange  him  from  his  happy 
fireside  and  the  tender,  loving  ties  of  home.  Indeed,  he 
seemed  to  feel  a  renewed  interest  in  his  business  as  well  as 
in  his  home.  Oft-times  he  would  undoubtedly  have  been 
found  guilty  of  midday  dreams — dreams  in  which  ho  saw 
in  the  future,  a  gentle,  refined  young  man  aspiring  to  the 
profession  of  law,  and  probably  arranging  for  a  co-partner 
ship  in  his  own  law  office.  How  natural  it  is  for  the  affec 
tionate  parent  to  picture  in  the  mind's  eye  the  hoped-for 
successes  of  his  child  in  life's  uneven  journey.  It  matters 
not  in  what  station  in  life  born,  possibilities  of  energetic 

15 


NORKOMA 

American  boys  and  girls  are  unbounded.  Tbey  cannot  be 
circumscribed  nor  limited  in  their  attainments  to  honor,  dis 
tinction,  popular  favor,  or  the  acquisition  of  vast  wealth  and 
worldly  riches. 

The  day  dreams  and  mental  visions  of  doting  parents  are 
no  less  restricted,  therefore,  in  the  richness  and  colorings  of 
those  dreams  than  are  the  possibilities  themselves.  It  was 
but  natural  that  LeBerte  Marchand  should  occasionally  map 
out,  mentally,  the  possible  future  course  of  his  new-found 
charge,  and  to  paint  the  pictures  thus  drawn  in  the  brightest 
colors.  But  those  dreams  were  sometimes  disturbed  by  the 
more  sober  reflections  that  the  natural  parents  of  Norkoma 
might,  sooner  or  later,  appear  to  claim  the  custody  and 
right  of  possession. 

Such  reflections  had  disturbed  his  mind  but  a  few  times 
when  he  began  devising  ways  and  means  to  avoid  the  pos 
sibility  of  such  an  event,  nor  was  there  any  unnecessary 
delay  in  taking  the  steps  deemed  proper  in  the  premises. 
Therefore,  a  few  days  after  the  arrival  of  Norkoma  at  "The 
Cedars,"  and  before  that  fact  had  become  known  to  many 
people  of  the  neighborhood,  in  discussing  the  matter  with 
his  wife,  Mr.  Marchand  said: 

"I  am  not  altogether  certain  that  I  was  right  in  taking 
the  child  as  I  did.  Some  people  might  care  to  cc-ntort  the 
act  into  one  of  abduction  or  kidnapping." 

"Oh,  Bertie,  how  can  you  suggest  such  a  thing?  Of 
course,  you  did  right  in  taking  the  child.  The  little  fellow 
was  without  a  home,  or  the  care  of  a  father  or  mother.  Be 
sides,  I  love  him — 0  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much." 

"Of  course,  the  last  named  consideration  would  be  suf 
ficient  warrant  for  me  to  take  a  whole  regiment  of  home- 

16 


THE  LITTLE  GOLDEN  LOCKET 


less  boys,  but  I  am  afraid,  my  dear,  the  court  would  not 
consider  it  a  sufficiently  strong  reason  for  refusing  the 
natural  parents  the  guardianship,  custody  and  possession  of 
ISTorkoma,  if  the  court  should  be  called  'upon  to  decide  the 
matter,  and — 

"Oh,  but  I  think  it  would  go  a  long  way  in  that  direction, 
for  a  mother  who  does  not  love  and  protect  her  child  is  not 
a  proper  person  to  have  its  custody  and  care.  Besides,  we 
are  able  to  provide  him  a  good  home,  to  rear,  protect  and 
educate  him,  and  give  him  such  advantages  as  will  make 
him  a  more  useful  member  of  society  in  general/' 

"Hello,  my  little  wife,  who  taught  you  so  much  about  the 
working  of  the  law?  I  propose  right  now  to  take  you  into 
partnership  with  me,  and — 

"Oh,  you  forget  that  you  married  a  lawyer's  daughter,''' 
cheerfully  interrupted  the  wife.  "I  know,  dear  'Berte,  that 
the  parent  is  the  natural  guardian  of  a  child,  and,  all  things 
being  equal,  that  the  parent  has  the  preference  in  law  to  that 
right,  but  the  state  and  the  public  also  have  an  interest 
in  seeing  that  children  shall  have  such  safeguards  thrown 
around  them  as  will  conduce  to  their  best  interests,  and  such 
as  will  make  them  more  useful  to  the  state  and  to  the  public." 

"But  how  can  we  say  that  we  are  better  able  than  his 
natural  parents  to  give  ISTorkoma  those  advantages?" 

"Certainly  we  should  never  have  allowed  the  child  to  be 
found  an  outcast  in  the  streets  of  a  large  city,  and  under 
such  circumstances  as  you  found  him.  These  facts  are  evi 
dence  of  either  the  parents'  inability  to  properly  care  for 
him,  or  their  lack  of  affection  for  their  offspring." 

"But,  my  dear,  suppose  the  child  had  been  stolen  from  his 

17 


NORKOMA 

parents  and  held  for  ransom.  Perhaps  you  had  not  thought 
of  that." 

"True,  I  had  not.  Were  that  the  case,  however,  the  news 
papers  of  the  country  would  have  heen  filled  with  sensa 
tional  reports  of  'A  Stolen  Child/  and  many  people  would 
have  heard  of  it.  Besides,  there  seems  to  have  been  'no  at 
tempt  at  secreting  the  boy  from  the  public,  or  keeping  hi.-- 
identity  hidden,  for  the  little  golden  locket  containing  the 
miniature  photograph,  evidently  that  of  his  mother,  would 
have  readily  led  to  his  identity." 

"By  the  way,"  interrupted  the  husband,  having  led  the 
conversation  up  to  this  point  intentionally,  ''speaking  of  the 
little  locket  and  the  picture  — the  thought  has  occurred  to 
me  several  times  that  with  the  memento  always  present  to 
remind  him  of  other  days,  will  the  little  fellow  not  be  likely 
to  propound  some  perplexing  questions  regarding  it?" 

"Yes,  it  would  be  but  natural,  according  to  the  law  of 
association  of  ideas,  that  the  ever-present  memento  should 
result  in  bringing  about  that  unpleasant  state  of  affairs.  It 
was  but  yesterday  that  the  same  thought  occurred  to  me  and 
I  resolved  to  remove  the  little  locket  when  a  good  opportunity 
presented,  but  when  I  made  the  attempt  my  heart  failed  me. 

"Norkoma  was  sleeping  at  the  time,"  continued  the  wife. 
"We  had  been  out  in  the  grounds  for  an  airing,  the  child 
giving  himself  up  to  a  vigorous  romp,  and  when  we  re 
turned,  he  was  much  fatigued.  Taking  him  in  my  arms, 
I  hummed  over  an  old  nursery  tune,  and  he  was  soon  asleep. 
He  lay  in  my  arms,  the  picture  of  sweetness,  innocence  and 
purity.  Oh,  how  I  loved  the  little  fellow — mother  never 
loved  her  own  son  more.  I  must  have  fallen  into  a  'day 
dream/  for  I  saw  him  growing  into  young  manhood,  the 

18 


THE  GOLDEN  LOCKET 

noblest,  brightest,  best  in  all  the  world.  Presently  I  was 
aroused  by  a  servant  passing  through  the  room.  My  arms 
had  grown  tired  and  I  laid  him  upon  the  couch,  drawing  up 
a  chair  that  I  might  be  near  him  and  continue  to  feast  my 
eyes  on  his  innocent  face. 

"Again  I  found  myself  drifting  into  dreamland,  and  I 
did  not  try  to  prevent  it.  The  picture  of  the  child  returned. 
Again  I  saw  him  growing  into  young  manhood  as  before. 
How  proud  I  felt,  for  I  was  his  mother  and  he  loved  me  as 
such.  One  day  he  came  to  me  in  great  haste;  his  face  was 
flushed,  and  he  appeared  greatly  agitated.  I  was  miserable 
and  felt  that  some  great  calamity  or  misfortune  was  about  to 
break  upon  me.  In  his  hand  Norkoma  held  that  golden 
chain  and  locket.  When  I  saw  him  my  heart  sank  within 
me  and  my  blood  chilled,  for  I  then  seemed  to  realize  that 
they  were  connected  in  some  manner  with  the  pending  dis 
aster.  I  was  to  lose  my  baby,  my  darling  boy,  my  beautiful 
son.  The  door  stood  slightly  ajar  and  uninvited  there  swept 
into  the  room  a  tall,  beautiful  woman,  spiritually  serene 
and  calm.  She  seemed  to  float  across  the  room  until  she 
stood  between  ISTorkoma  and  me,  and  after  a  long,  lingering 
look  into  his  face  she  interlocked  her  arms  in  his,  then  turn 
ing  to  me  with  a  sweet  smile  she  said  in  a  gentle  voice  but 
the  one  word,  'XORMA,'  and  both  turning,  passed  out  of 
the  room. 

"I  remember  no  more,  but  at  the  first  returning  conscious 
ness  my  earliest  thought  was  for  my  child.  He  was  brought 
to  me,  and  the  knowledge  that  I  had  not  lost  him  at  once 
soothed  me,  and  a  turn  in  the  fresh  air  revived  me  and  drove 
away  the  overwhelming  ennui  that  had  seemed  to  almost 
crush  my  life  from  me  but  a  few  moments  before.  I  felt 

19 


NORKOMA 

aroused — a  blazing  fire  seemed  to  burn  within  me.  I  felt 
indignant  at  the  specter  form  that  had  seemed  to  sweep 
majestically  through  my  room  and  lead  away  my  son.  Al 
though  I  knew  it  was  but  a  fancy,  a  sort  of  'day  dream.' 
I  could  not  free  myself  from  the  vision  of  the  locket.  To  me 
it  was  the  connecting  link  between  the  dream  visitor  and 
Norkoma. 

"I  resolved  to  destroy  the  locket  upon  the  first  opportunity. 
The  opportunity  came  toda}r  as  the  child  again  lay  sleeping. 
I  could  resist  no  longer  for  I  feared  the  phantom  might 
return  in  reality,  and  finding  the  proofs  take  my  baby  from 
me.  I  knelt  quietly  beside  the  couch  where  he  was  sleeping 
and  reached  out  to  unclasp  the  locket  from  its  fastenings. 
My  fingers  grew  cold  and  numb,  and  a  doubt  crossed  my 
mind.  I  prayed  that  God  would  give  me  light  and  guidance, 
but  my  prayers  seemed  to  fall  from  my  lips  to  the  floor,  cold 
and  cruel.  I  tried  to  harden  my  heart  and  convince  myself 
that  I  was  doing  right.  Selfishness  sat  upon  her  throne 
in  my  heart  and  ruled  with  all  the  pomp  of  a  wicked  queen, 
assuring  me  that  my  prayers  had  been  heard  and  an 
swered.  Encouraged  by  this  assurance,  I  again  put  out 
my  hands  to  remove  the  locket.  The  child  smiled  in  his 
sleep,  his  lips  moved  and  faintly  uttered  the  word  'mother.' 
He  raised  his  little,  dimpled  hand,  and  then  languidly  it  fell 
to  his  breast  and  innocently  clasped  the  treasure  as  if  di 
rected  by  spirit  influence.  I  started  from  my  knees,  and  a 
shudder  passed  over  my  bcdy.  A  breath  of  air  swayed  the 
curtain  at  the  window,  and  I  glanced  quickly  around,  half 
expecting  to  see  the  specter  form  hovering  nearby. 

"The  shadows  of  evening  fell  around  me.  The  house  cat 
wandered  into  the  room,  as  if  looking  for  his  playfellow, 

20 


THE  GOLDEN  LOCKET 

affectionately  smoothed  himself  against  my  dress  and  purred 
softly.  The  mournful,  whining  bark  of  old  Tige  reached  my 
ears  and  sent  a  chill  throughout  my  body.  I  arose  quickly 
and  left  the  room,  half  fearful  that  I  should  come  in  contact 
with  the  phantom  form  as  I  we'nt.  I  went  out  in  the  grounds 
and  was  relieved  only  when  I  met  you  upon  your  return 
from  the  city.  I  could  not  then,  and  know  I  shall  never 
again  make  another  attempt  to  take  my  baby's  locket  from 
him." 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchand  sat  for  some  time  in  silence,  the 
husband  mentally  reviewing  the  question  as  to  whether  he 
had  brought  to  "The  Cedars"  the  happiness  he  had  first  sup 
posed.  He  realized  that  Mrs.  Marchand  had  passed  through 
a  mental  and  physical  ordeal  not  common,  and  that  it  must 
leave  a  telling  trace  upon  her  health.  He  at  last  broke  the 
silence  by  saying: 

"I  am  under  the  impression  that  henceforward  we  should 
abandon  the  name  Norkoma.  The  child  does  not  seem  averse 
to  the  name  of  Walter,  and  in  fact  I  believe  that  is  his  cor 
rect  name.  Do  you  approve  of  the  change?" 

"Yes,  I  would  be  glad  to  have  the  name  changed,  for 
the  experience  of  this  afternoon  seems  to  cling  closely  to 
the  name,  Norkoma/' 

"Then  after  today  the  little  golden  locket  and  the  name 
Norkoma  shall  be  things  of  the  past,  and  in  their  stead  we 
will  have  only  our  own  dear  son,  Walter  Marchand." 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  IV. 
A  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW. 

Five  years  have  elapsed  since  the  occurrence  of  the  inci 
dents  narrated  in  the  preceding  chapter  — the  happiest  years 
in  the  lives  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchand.  Xot  a  shadow,  save 
a  few  visionary  ones,  in  all  those  years  crossed  their  paths. 
Returning  health  had  brought  back  to  the  mistress  of  "The 
Cedars"  a  glow  to  the  cheek  and  a  sparkle  to  the  eye  akin 
to  her  more  youthful  days.  Walter,  for  by  that  name  only 
has  the  son  been  known  during  this  time,  is  now  a  bright, 
intelligent  lad  of  ten  years.  Apt  in  his  studies,  he  outranks 
his  classmates,  and  is  the  peer  of  them  all  in  deportment. 
In  manner  always  refined,  obedient  to  authority,  earnest  in 
his  application  to  his  work,  he  suffers  in  no  way  when  com 
pared  with  youths  of  his  age. 

To  Walter,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchand  are  father  and  mother 
— he  knows  no  other — and  he  is  to  them  their  son  indeed. 
Different  from  many  children  whose  parents  are  blessed  with 
wealth  and  abundant  means,  as  well  as  afflicted  with  great 
social  position,  Walter  has  not  been  left  entirely  to  the  doleful 
care  of  the  nursery.  He  has  been  more  nearly  the  com 
panion  of  his  mother,  who  at  the  same  time  played  the  part 
of  preceptor  and  instructor. 

This  sort  of  program  had,  for  some  time,  been  interrupted. 

22 


A  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

A  little  sister  had  made  her  appearance  at  "The  Cedars." 
and  no  one  is  more  delighted  over  the  presence  of  the  new 
comer  than  is  Walter.  Uo  one  is  more  tenderly  fond  of 
the  helpless  little  thing,  as  it  lay  sleeping  upon  its  mother's 
bosom  than  the  son,  and  as  the  months  and  years  go  by  no 
one  is  more  considerate  of  the  desires,  pleasures  and  well- 
being  of  the  child  than  is  the  brother. 

Walter  and  Edith  grew  to  be  almost  constant  companions, 
and  as  time  rolled  on  an  attachment  and  affection,  each  for 
the  other,  sprang  up,  that  in  later  years  proved  to  be  of 
greater  depth  than  they  had  ever  thought  possible.  Walter 
has  nearly  completed  his  high  school  course,  and  is  anxiously 
looking  forward  to  his  collegiate  career.  Edith  was  now  in 
her  teens,  and,  being  exceptionally  bright,  has  kept  well  in 
the  wake  of  her  brother's  onward,  intellectual  march.  But 
the  approaching  separation,  when  Walter  should  enter  col 
lege,,  casts  a  gloom  over  the  young  hearts  of  the  brother  and 
sister,  and  they  are  often  found  discussing  future  arrange 
ments  with  the  apparent  wisdom  of  older  people. 

But  a  deeper  shadow  threatens  to  cast  a  gloom  over  the 
entire  household  of  "The  Cedars."  The  long  winter,  which 
is  now  budding  into  spring,  has  been  a  severe  one,  and  Mrs. 
Marchand  was  the  victim  of  a  succession  of  colds  that 
quickly  developed  into  a  malady,  the  nature  of  which  could 
not  be  mistaken. 

"Is  there  no  hope,  doctor?"  asked  the  husband  as  he 
accompanied  the  physician  into  an  adjoining  room,  safe  from 
the  hearing  of  the  members  of  the  family. 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  but  little  hope,  Mr.  Marchand.  I 
wish  to  be  perfectly  frank  with  you  in  this  matter  and  must 
say  that  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  encourage  you  to 

23 


NORKOMA 

build  hope  upon  such  an  insecure  foundation.  It  would 
only  be  a  castle  to  be  destroyed  by  the  winds  of  fate,  any 
moment.  It  grieves  me  deeply  to  tell  you  this,  but  I  believe 
it  is  best  that  I  should  do  so." 

Mr.  Marchand  sank  limply  upon  a  chair  with  an  abject 
look  of  pain  and  despair  upon  his  countenance,  murmuring 
to  himself,  "Oh,  God,  can  it  be  true  ?" 

"LeBerte,"  said  the  doctor,  for  they  had  been  long-time 
friends  and  associates,  "this  is  to  be  your  first  great  sorrow. 
Let  me  counsel  you  to  bear  it  with  fortitude  and  courage. 
Through  my  own  experience  I  know  the  full  meaning  of  it, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  sorrows  that  can  possibly  come 
to  man.  But  remember,  the  great  giant  oaks  of  the  forest 
have  been  made  strong  and  sturdy  by  the  biting  frosts,  the 
hail  and  chilling  rains,  and  by  the  sweeping  winds  that 
almost  uprooted  them.  The  strong  and  noble  soul  is  made 
so  by  first  passing  through  the  fiery  furnace  of  trial  and 
tribulation,  coming  out  relieved  of  the  dross  and  impurities. 
Come,  my"  dear  friend,  be  brave,  and  God  will  help  you 
through,"  and  taking  him  by  the  arm  the  doctor  led  his 
friend  out  into  the  cool,  starry  night.  It  was  refreshing,  in 
deed,  after  his  long  watch  in  the  sick  room,  and  the  two 
men  walked  and  talked  for  some  time.  In  bidding  his 
friend  good  night,  Mr.  Marchand  said : 

"I  thank  you,  doctor,  for  your  kind  and  valuable  words 
of  advice.  I  will,  as  far  as  is  within  my  power,  be  guided 
by  them.  But  our  poor,  dear  children !  How  will  they  be 
able  to  bear  so  great  a  trouble?" 

"For  a  time  their  grief  will  be  intense,"  replied  the  doc 
tor,  "but,  unlike  older  persons,  they  more  quickly  form  new 


A  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

associations  and  adjust  themselves  to  new  situations  which 
wear  away  the  keen  edge  of  their  sorrow." 

This  was  LeBerte  Marchand's  first  great  sorrow,  but  the 
shadow  fell,  fortunately  for  him,  long  in  advance  of  the 
blow  itself,  thus  preparing  him,  in  a  measure,  to  withstand 
its  mighty  onslaught.  He  fully  realized  that  it  would  re 
quire  all  the  courage  and  fortitude  within  him  to  bear  up 
under  the  burden  that  was  to  cast  its  full  weight  upon  him. 

Walter  and  Edith,  not  yet  realizing  the  serious  condition  of 
their  mother,  were,  as  usual,  in  the  library  engaged  in  their 
studies,  when  the  father  entered.  The  pained  expression  of 
countenance,  despite  heroic  efforts  to  hide  his  sorrow,  was 
readily  discerned  by  Edith,  who  at  once  put  aside  her  books 
and  drawing  near  to  her  father  affectionately  said: 

"Now,  what  is  wrong  with  my  dear  papa  that  he  looks 
so  sad  and  weary?"  Then  resting  her  face  closely  against 
his  and  softly  stroking  his  hair,  she  pleaded:  "Won't  you 
tell  your  own  little  girl  what  troubles  you?  If  you  will  tell 
her,  she  will  do  anything  she  can  to  drive  away  the  pain  and 
trouble." 

"Oh,  it  is  nothing,  my  dear  little  daughter — I  am  not  feel 
ing  well — that  is.  all.  Go  back  to  your  books,  dear  one,  for 
I  must  go  to  your  mamma,"  answered  the  father,  and  quickly 
kissing  the  child,  he  arose  to  go.  It  had  cost  him  all  his 
strength  to  hide  his  emotion  and  keep  back  the  tears  that 
were  forcing  themselves  upon  his  cheeks.  He  dared  not  tarry 
for  he  could  compose  himself  no  longer.  Leaving  the  door 
slightly  ajar,  he  passed  quickly  into  the  hallway  where  he 
waited,  why  or  how  long,  he  did  not  know. 

Always  obedient  to  her  father's  command,  Edith  returned 
to  her  study,  but  the  picture  of  her  father's  pained  and 

25 


troubled  face  remained  before  her.  No  longer  able  to  con 
centrate  her  thoughts  upon  the  studies,  she  closed  her  books 
with  a  sigh,  and  saidf 

"Brother,  what  makes  papa  so  sad  tonight?  I  never  saw 
him  look  so  troubled,  and  it  makes  me  feel  so  badly  I  cannot 
study." 

"I  don't  know,  little  sister,"  returned  the  brother  without 
looking  up  from  his  book.  But  Edith  was  not  to  be  put  off 
in  this  fashion,  and,  going  around  the  table  where  Walter 
sat,  she  placed  her  hands  over  the  open  book  in  a  playful 
way,  with  a  serious  air  said: 

"You  shall  not  read  another  word  until  you  answer  my 
question — now  there,  Mr.  Bookworm,  do  you  hear?" 

"Certainly  I  hear,"  said  Walter,  "and  as  I  was  just  fin 
ishing  I  will  put  aside  my  books  and  devote  the  remainder 
of  the  evening  to  answering  all  sorts  of  questions  that  a 
naughty  little  girl  I  know  may  please  to  ask." 

"Who  is  the  naughty  little  girl?  Now,  tell  just  who  you 
mean,"  said  Edith,  shaking  her  finger  threateningly  at  her 
brother  as  if  to  command  the  truth. 

"Oh,  she  is  not  far  away,  and  I  know  her  well.  Could  you 
guess  who  she  is?" 

"No,  I  cannot,"  answered  Edith,  with  an  innocent  air, 
then  drawing  her  chair  near  to  her  brother,  in  a  confiding 
way  she  continued :  "I  would  like  to  know  what  is  troubling 
papa.  I  know  he  is  awfully  worried." 

WTalter  immediately  surmised  that  the  mother's  condition 
was,  perhaps,  more  serious  than  he  had  theretofore  believed, 
and  a  deep  flush  stole  over  his  face  as  the  thought  entered 
his  mind.  The  change  in  Walter's  expression  was  noticed 
by  Edith,  and  before  he  had  time  to  formulate  an  answer  her 

26 


A  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

arms  were  around  his  neck  and  tears  were  streaming  down 
her  cheeks. 

"That  is  why  they  forbade  our  going  into  the  room  this 
evening,"  sobbed  Edith. 

Walter  was  not  the  only  listener,  for  the  manner  of  Edith's 
speech  had  aroused  the  father  from  his  reverie,  and  from 
his  position  in  the  hallway  he  could  not  only  hear  but  could 
see  the  occupants  of  the  library.  In  a  sort  of  stupor  he  re 
mained  as  if  fixed  to  the  spot,  while  the  brother  and  sister 
continued : 

"Of  course,  little  sister,  we  know  that  serious  illness,  and 
sometimes  death,  must  be  expected,  but  I  trust  mamma  will 
soon  be  well  again/'  said  Walter  trying  to  fortify  the  child 
against  the  possibilities  he  knew  existed. 

"Oh,  Walter,  do  not  talk  of  death.  Mamma  is  to  live  and 
we  are  all  to  be  happy  together  again.  Without  mamma 
what  would  our  home  be,  and  what  would  papa  do  without 
her?" 

The  listener  in  the  hallway  was  nearly  overcome  upon 
hearing  Edith's  words  of  loving  sympathy  and  affection,  yet 
they  brought  inspiration,  hope  and  courage,  as  well  as  heav- 
ings  of  the  breast,  sighs  and  tears. 

"Yes,  Edith,  dear,"  said  Walter,  "mamma's  death  would 
be  a  great  loss  for  you  and  me  to  bear,  but  ours  would  be 
nothing  in  comparison  with  the  loss  our  father  would  feel.  It 
has  been  truly  said  that  a  man  may  lose  his  wealth,  position, 
all  he  has  in  the  world,  but  the  greatest  — the  loss  that  over 
shadows  all  combined,  is  light  compared  with  the  loss  of  his 
life  companion,  his  friend,  his  wife.  So  it  is  not  in  our 
power  to  even  know  how  to  sympathize  with  father  in  his 
great  sorrow,  if  our  dear  mother  is  taken  from  us,  but  we  can 

27 


do  a  great  deal  to  help  and  strengthen  him  in  his  hour  of 
trouble.  We  know  how  to  be  kind  and  cheerful  so  as  to 
drive  away  his  cares  and  heart-aches,  and  we  can  help  to 
lighten  his  load/'  continued  Walter  in  a  fatherly  way. 

The  silent  listener  was  deeply  affected  by  the  words  of 
wisdom,  love  and  affection,  and  could  remain  no  longer 
without  disclosing  his  presence,  for  his  orwn  heart-beats 
seemed  so  violent  as  to  lead  to  detection.  With  tearful  eyes 
he  made  his  way  out  into  the  grounds  hoping  to  be  again 
refreshed  by  the  cool  night  air.  Walking  back  and  forth 
in  one  of  the  paths  that  led  down  through  the  shrubbery, 
brooding  upon  his  sorrow,  he  at  length  spoke  aloud  as  if 
talking  to  a  friend: 

"Why  should  I  bow  down  like  a  broken  reed  in  a  gale  while 
my  children  courageously  talk  of  being  my  staff  and  sup 
port?  Is  it  not  my  place,  rather,  to  help  them  through  the 
dark  valley  of  sorrow?  God  helping  me,  I  will  be  brave 
and  strong,  as  the  doctor  advised,  even  thjough  it  kill  me 
to  do  so." 

LeBerte  Marchand  had  done  hard  battle  with  his  sor 
row.  It  had  come  to  him  in  the  bright,  cheerful  summer — 
when  the  harvest  fields  of  his  happy  life  were  yet  in  their 
bloom.  Its  presence  was  ever  upon  his  soul,  a  heavy,  blight 
ing  weight.  Always  at  his  side  like  a  ghastly  shadow,  whis 
pering  in  his  ear  the  torturing  words:  "Your  wife,  your 
companion,  is  slowly  fading  out  of  life."  It  made  him  feel 
at  times  as  if  there  were  no  mercy,  no  sympathy,  no  justice 
in  the  ways  of  Providence;  but  fortunately,  unlike  many 
others,  he  harbored  not  such  feeling  in  his  breast.  Fate 
was  cruel  to  him,  it  is  true,  if  we  axe  to  pass  judgment  upon 
the  inevitable  laws  of  nature  and  nature's  God.  But.,  on  the 

28 


A  FIRST  GREAT  SORROW 

i 

other  hand,  fate  had  also  been  kind  to  him  and  his.  Had 
not  he  and  his  loving  wife  enjoyed  a  long  season  of  supreme 
happiness,  while  millions  of  the  less  favored  had  suffered 
untold  misery,  misfortune,  and  even  death?  What  right 
had  LeBerte  Marchand  to  complain  of  this,  his  first  great 
sorrow,  when  his  lot  was  compared  with  the  usual  lot  of  com 
mon  humanity? 

Within  a  few  weeks  after  it  became  apparent  that  the 
mistress  of  "The  Cedars"  could  not  survive,  the  fair,  hand 
some  face  of  the  husband  had  grown  pale  and  haggard;  the 
kindly  eyes  wore  a  wild,  troubled  expression;  a  deep  furrow 
extended  across  his  brow ;  the  buoyancy  of  his  step  was  gone. 
Observing  the  changed  condition  of  his  friend,  the  physi 
cian,  knowing  that  Mrs.  Marchand's  life  was  nearing  its 
close,  said : 

"LeBerte,  we  have  always  been  the  best  of  friends,  and 
I  want  to  talk  frankly  with  you,  as  a  father  would  talk  to  a 
son,  regarding  the  cloud  of  sorrow  that  is  hovering  over 
you.  It  is  a  new  experience  for  you,  while  I  can  speak  of  it 
as  one  who  knows. 

"There  are  many  ways  in  which  men  treat  a  great  sor 
row,  but  the  majority  of  them  follow  one  of  three  courses. 
One  class  of  sorrowers,  and,  by  the  way,  they  are  the  weaker 
ones,  resort  to  drink,  thinking  to  drown  their  trouble 
in  dissipation  and  excesses.  You,  I  know,  have  better  judg 
ment  than  to  take  that  road.  Another  class  withdraw  them 
selves  from  the  world  of  friends  about  them,  hardening  their 
hearts  against  all  love  and  sympathy,  become  cynical,  lose 
interest  in  themselves  and  all  around  them,  growing  colder 
day  by  day,  until  finally  they  disbelieve  in  the  mercy  and 
goodness  of  God  himself,  and  are  virtually  nonentities  in 

29 


NORKOMA 

the  end.  You  have  too  good  a  heart  and  too  deep  a  nature 
to  take  that  road.  The  other  class  are  those  who  look  kind 
ly,  calmly  upon  their  misfortunes  and  sorrows,  taking  them 
as  a  sort  of  life  discipline,  bearing  up  under  them  with  a 
courage  that  is  exemplary  and  praiseworthy.  These  are  the 
noble,  generous,  sympathetic  souls  that  you  will  always  find 
plodding  along  life's  highway,  extending  a  helping  hand 
here,  speaking  a  word  of  encouragement  and  cheer  there,  to 
help  the  weary  along.  They  are  God's  own  beacon  lights 
that  shine  upon  the  rough,  uneven  pathway  of  life,  mak 
ing  it  possible  for  many  struggling,  fainting,  weary  souls 
to  reach  a  haven  of  rest. 

"Our  sorrows,  my  dear  friend,  should  make  us  nobler, 
better  and  purer,  and  they  will  if  we  but  accept  them  from 
God's  hand  as  the  lessons  of  life.  They  will  prepare  and 
qualify  us  for  that  enjoyment  of  the  pure,  the  good,  the 
royal  things  of  this  life  that  others  cannot  enjoy.  They 
will  bring  us  to  that  altitude  in  life's  journey  where  we  may 
look  down  the  decline  and  over  the  valley  covered  with 
fields  of  the  richest,  ripest  harvest  that  mortal  eyes  can  be 
hold.  To  which  class  do  you  belong?" 

Before  Mr.  Marchand  had  time  to  formulate  an  answer, 
they  were  summoned  to  the  sick  room.  The  end  was  indeed 
drawing  nigh,  and  ere  another  day  had  dawned  upon  "The 
Cedars"  the  soul  of  the  affectionate  wife  and  loving  mother 
had  taken  its  flight  to  the  spirit  land. 


30 


A  LONELY  MAN 


CHAPTER  V. 
A  LONELY  MAN. 

It  was  all  over.  The  family  vault  in  the  cemetery  was 
closed  and  sealed.  The  wide  halls  and  spacious  rooms  at 
"The  Cedars"  resounded  no  more  with  the  happy  voices  of 
love  and  the  music  of  cheerful  companionship.  The  family 
was  gone,  and  the  dear  old  home  was  in  the  hands  of  serv 
ants.  The  members  of  the  once  happy  family  could  not 
bear  the  idea  of  remaining  at  "The  Cedars"  after  the  wife 
and  mother  had  left  them,  so  it  was  decided  that  the  father, 
son  and  daughter  should  spend  some  months  traveling,  and 
after  the  keen  edge  of  their  sorrow  had  been  worn  away 
Walter  should  enter  college,  and  Edith  be  placed  in  a  board 
ing  school  nearby,  that  brother  and  sister  might  not  be 
wholly  separated. 

As  soon,  therefore,  as  the  various  arrangements  could 
be  perfected,  the  Marchands  bade  farewell  to  "The  Cedars" 
and  their  immediate  friends,  and  set  out  upon  their  jour 
ney. 

After  devoting  the  summer  months  to  sight  seeing  at  the 
places  of  note  and  importance  in  European  countries,  the 
little  family  returned  to  the  United  States  much  benefited, 
feeling  that  life  still  had  charms  for  each  of  them.  To  Edith 
and  Walter,  the  journey  had  been  like  a  panorama  of  beau- 

31 


NQRKOMA 

tiful  sights  and  scenes.,  while  the  activity  of  travel  occupied 
their  attention  so  they  had  little  time  or  opportunity  to  brood 
over  their  sorrow.  They  were  not  only  willing  and  ready, 
but  really  anxious  to  resume  their  studies.  Mr.  Marchand 
himself  began  to  note  that  sense  of  longing,  that  inexpressible 
feeling  natural  to  one  long  separated  from  the  familiar  ob 
jects  of  home. 

He  knew  that  his  return  to  "The  Cedars"  without  the 
company  of  his  son  and  daughter  would  not  be  pleasant,  nor 
indeed  would  it  be  pleasant  to  remain  at  home  without  their 
presence  there.  However,  his  duty  to  his  children  must  not 
be  subverted  to  his  own  pleasures  or  whims,  so  according  to 
prearranged  plans,  Walter  entered  upon  his  collegiate  course 

at  W ,  while  Edith  was  comfortably  situated  nearby. 

After  having  arranged  matters  so  that  brother  and  sister 
should  not  be  entirely  separated,  and  having  said  many  good 
byes,  the  father  departed  for  his  home  to  take  up  the  battles 
of  life  again — but  alone. 

Mr.  Marchand  arrived  in  the  city  in  the  evening.  The 
streets  were  ablaze  with  light,  and  thronged  with  merry, 
laughing  crowds  of  people.  The  pale,  full  moon  but  added 
luster  and  brilliancy  to  the  scene,  as  the  lone  traveler  stood 
upon  the  curb,  undecided  which  way  to  turn  or  where  to  go. 
He  had  a  home  and  friends,  and  there  were  many  place? 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  retreat  for  pastime  and 
amusement,  but  he  did  not  feel  disposed  toward  them  now. 
He  felt  as  a  stranger  in  a  strange  city,  although  every  street, 
every  building  and  many  faces  were  familiar  to  him  as  he 
stood  there  in  the  pale  moonlight  gazing  abstractedly  upon 
the  merrymaking  throng. 

After  a  short  wait  he  involuntarily  started  towards  the 

32 


A  LONELY  MAN 

Lawyers'  Club,  unconsciously  selecting  the  side  of  the  street 
less  frequented  by  the  crowds  of  people.  Going  a  short  dis 
tance  he  paused — he  had  changed  his  mind,  deciding  that 
the  club  would  be  but  a  bore  to  him.  Across  the  street  crowds 
were  Hurrying  to  the  theatre.  Should  he  go  there  to  spend 
the  evening?  No,  he  cared  nothing  for  the  opera  tonight. 
"The  Cedars,"  his  home?  No,  he  would  not  go  home  to 
night.  He  thought  of  numerous  places  of  amusement,  and 
several  times  started  to  go  to  some  one  of  them,  always  de 
ciding  before  reaching  the  place  upon  some  other  course. 
So  he  wandered  disconsolately  about  his  native  city,  selecting 
the  more  secluded  streets,  his  mind  swayed  with  doubt  and 
uncertainty,  selfish  in  his  grief  and  sorrow,  vain  in  his  weak 
ness,  until  tired  nature  asserted  herself.  Then  the  lonely 
man  entered  a  hotel  and  retired  to  his  dismal  room. 

The  sun  was  peeping  over  the  tops  of  the  neighboring 
houses  as  LeBerte  Marchand  walked  slowly  up  one  of  the 
paths  leading  to  his  home.  He  remembered  the  time  in 
years  gone  by  when  he  had  returned  in  the  early  morning 
with  little  Norkoma.  The  faithful  old  watch  dog  did  not 
now  come  down  the  path  to  meet  him  as  he  had  done  on  the 
former  occasion.  The  old  colored  servant  was  not  at  the 
door  to  welcome  "de  marse"  home.  The  place  seemed  shroud 
ed  in  gloom.  He  entered  the  parlor,  where  the  housekeeper 
soon  had  a  comfortable  fire  blazing  in  the  grate  to  dispel  the 
dampness  from  the  room.  He  sat  down  and  gazed  vacantly 
into  the  fire.  Another  chair  stood  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  fireplace — vacant.  In  the  adjoining  room,  the  door  of 
which  stood  open,  the  wife,  companion  and  mother  had  passed 
her  last  days.  New  draperies  surrounded  the  bed  and  new 
curtains  were  at  the  windows.  The  toilet  articles  and  brie- 


NORKOMA 

a-brac  that  betoken  an  air  of  occupancy  had  all  been  removed, 
and  despite  the  plain,  rich  furnishings,  the  room  had  a 
desolate  and  deserted  look.  Brushing  away  the  tears  that 
dimmed  his  eyes,  he  uttered  a  half  audible  prayer.  The 
closed  secretarie  stood  in  its  accustomed  place  near  the  win 
dow.  He  opened  it.  In  one  of  the  numerous  receptacles  was 
a  package  of  old  letters  neatly  tied  with  a  narrow  pink  rib 
bon,  slightly  soiled  by  frequent  handling.  On  the  envelopes 
he  recognized  his  own  handwriting.  The  letters  had  been 
written  in  the  happy  days  of  long  ago,  and  had  been  safely 
kept  and  treasured  by  her  whose  presence  he  missed  so  sadly 
on  his  home-coming.  With  tear  dimmed  eyes  he  left  the 
room,  murmuring  "God  bless  her  dear  memory." 

The  servant  announced  breakfast,  but  was  unheard  by  Mr. 
Marchand.  "Oh,  that  I  could  recall  the  days  gone  by — happy 
days — yes,  the  happiest  of  my  life,"  murmured  he  as 
he  sat  with  bowed  head,  while  memories  of  the  past  crowded 
over  him.  There  was  the  first  home-coming,  when  the  wife, 
a  bride,  had  turned  to  him  as  they  entered  the  spacious  old 
room  and  said,  "This  shall  be  indeed  a  home  to  us,  LeBerte, 
if  I  can  make  it  so."  Then  there  was  the  second  home-com 
ing  when  little  Norkoma  had  lifted  his  bright  face  to  theirs 
and  said,  "I  love  my  mamma,  and  my  papa,  too."  Then 
later  the  baby  Edith  had  made  them  happy  beyond  expression 
— then  came  death,  and  the  home  had  been  robbed  of  its 
full  glory. 

The  servant  again  announced  that  breakfast  was  wait 
ing.  Marchand  started  from  his  reverie  and  passed  into  the 
breakfast  room.  He  halted  as  he  approached  his  accustomed 
place — the  seat  opposite  was  vacant.  The  repast,  though 
daintily  served,  was  unrelished  and  almost  untouched.  The 

34 


A  LONELY  MAN 

largo  Maltese  cat  gently  stroked  its  fur  and  purred  about 
his  feet.  He  shared  his  breakfast  with  it,  contrary  to  for 
mer  custom — but  it  was  hers,  she  had  loved  it. 

From  the  house  he  passed  down  through  the  grounds  to 
the  stables.  Ere  he  entered,  Felix,  the  old  family  horse  so 
much  driven  and  petted  by  Mrs.  'Marchand,  began  neighing 
impatiently  and  pawing  the  ground  viciously,  seeming  to 
know  that  his  master  was  near  at  hand.  As  the  door  opened 
and  the  master  entered,  the  noble  animal  stretched  his  shapely 
neck  across  the  manger,  shaking  his  head  and  whinnying  joy 
fully,  extending  the  only  welcome  he  knew. 

Going  around  into  the  stall  he  patted  the  horse's  neck, 
while  the  intelligent  animal  contented  himself  with  resting 
his  head  upon  his  master's  shoulder.  The  horse  soon  became 
restless  and  neighed  several  times,  throwing  his  alert  ears 
forward  and  gazing  persistently  out  of  the  open  door.  The 
sorrowful  man  did  not  at  first  comprehend,  but  when  the 
reason  for  the  horse's  restlessness  dawned  upon  him  he  burst 
into  a  flood  of  tears,  and,  throwing  his  arms  about  the  horse's 
neck,  he  sobbed:  "Poor  Felix!  Do  you  miss  her?"  Then, 
passing  around  into  the  barn,  he  threw  himself  upon  a  pile 
of  new  mown  hay,  and  wept  as  man  seldom  weeps. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  LeBerte  Marchand  emerged 
from  the  buildings,  for,  worn  and  weary,  he  had  wept  him 
self  to  sleep.  The  sleep  had  not  only  refreshed  him,  but  it 
had  also  revived  him  both  mentally  and  spiritually,  so  that 
he  felt  altogether  like  a  new  man.  In  time,  he  learned  to 
look  upon  his  sorrow  as  a  black  cloud  of  destiny  and  fate 
which  sometimes  drops  down  before  the  vision  of  our  hap 
piest  dreams.  In  this,  his  great  sorrow,  LeBerte  Marchand's 
soul  became  cleansed  of  its  dross.  His  patient  suffering 

35 


became  distilled  into  a  holy  incense  which  arose  to  drive 
away  the  vain  expectancies,  the  unholy  hopes,  the  unhappy 
fears,  that  burdened  his  soul.  From  it  all  he  emerged  with 
a  clear  head,  a  lighter  heart.  Then,  toward  the  eternal,  ap 
proaching  future,  he  stretched  out  his  prayerful  hands  of 
hope,  with  a  fixed  belief  that  in  the  great  beyond  there  is 
something  brighter  and  better. 


A  FAMILIAR  FACE 


CHAPTER  Vil. 
A   FAMILIAR  FACE. 

Walter's  college  days  are  now  over,  and  he  is  a  full-fledged 
practitioner  of  the  law  in  the  city  of  New  Orleans.  The 
office  sign  that  adorns  the  entrance  to  the  office  building 
reads:  "Marchand  &  Marchand,  Attorneys  and  Counsellors 
at  Law." 

Edith  •  has  not  finished  her  college  education.  Having 
added  music  and  fine  art  to  her  course  of  study,  she  is  re 
quired  to  remain  a  while  longer.  The  loving  brother  and 
sister  saw  little  of  each  other  during  the  last  year  or  two 
of  Walters  college  life.  So  industrious  with  his  books  was 
he,  that  whatever  visiting  between  them  there  was,  fell  to 
the  lot  of  Edith.  As  expressed  by  Walter  upon  occasions 
when  Edith  pleaded  with  him  for  a  visit  to  her :  "Now,  sis 
ter,  you  see  I'm  a  man  with  great  burdens  to  bear,  or  at  least 
I  expect  to  bear  them  when  I  launch  out  into  the  busy  world, 
and  I  must  learn  here  to  economize  my  time  in  preparing 
for  the  battle.  With  you  girls  it  is  different.  Your  battles 
are  all  fought  out  in  your  colleges.  When  you  leave  your 
Alma  Mater  you  go  out  the  victor,  with  no  more  battles  to 
fight.  You  depend  upon  us  men  to  fight  life's  battles,  and 
that  is  why  you  need  not  be  so  anxious  about  a  mere  trifle 

37 


NORKOMA 

of  time.     Besides,  I  appreciate  your  visits  to  me  more  than 
ever  I  could  my  visiting  you,"  etc. 

However,  a  regular  system  of  tri-weekly  correspondence 
was  kept  up  between  Walter  and  Edith,  thereby  keeping  in 
close  touch  with  each  other  in  feeling,  sentiment  and  mutual 
interest.  It  had  been  well  agreed  upon  that  at  the  close 
of  Walter's  course  he  would  make  up  for  the  seeming  inat 
tention  by  an  extended  visit  with  Edith  at  her  college  home, 
and  of  which  contemplated  visit  both  brother  and  sister  lived 
in  glorious  anticipation. 

Edith's  later  correspondence  became  filled  with  glowing 
accounts  of  her  wonderful  music  teacher,  whom  the  pupil 
appeared  to  love  very  dearly.  This  apparent  affection  seemed 
to  leave  a  twang  of  pain  in  Walter's  bosom,  though  he  could 
assign  no  reason  therefor.  He  would,  however,  readily  manu 
facture  excuses  satisfactory  to  his  own  mind  for  the  time 
being.  Indeed,  he  was  almost  wholly  engrossed  with  his 
college  work,  affording  little  time  for  other  matters. 

The  teacher,  according  to  Edith's  description,  was  almost 
a  divinity.  Using  the  pupil's  language,  the  teacher  was: 
"The  most  lovely,  angelic  person  I  have  ever  met.  She  is 
a  woman  of  quiet,  motherly,  sympathetic  nature,  and  a 
charming  personality.  The  word  beautiful  does  not  fully 
express  her  face,  her  eyes,  her  very  soul;  but  what  word  can 
I  find  to  use  as  a  substitute?  The  few  gray  hairs  give  the 
appearance  of  interwoven  strands  of  silver,  decorating  her 
head  with  a  crown  triumphant — a  victor  over  the  perplexing 
shadows  of  life." 

No  wonder  that  the  brother  occasionally  felt  a  strange  pang 
— perhaps  of  jealousy — at  this  wonderful  affection  for  the 

38 


A  FAMILIAR  FACE 

teacher.  Edith  and  Walter  had  always  been  lovers,  as  well  as 
brother  and  sister. 

But  disappointments  come  when  least  expected.  The  date 
of  the  Commencement,  Walter  was  taken  sick  with  symp 
toms  of  protracted  fever,  so  it  was  thought  best  that  he  should 
hasten  to  his  Southern,  sunny  home,  where,  after  a  few  weeks 
of  rest  and  recreation,  he  became  anxious  to  begin  his  "bat 
tles  of  life"  with  the  business  world,  and  which  he  did  by 
entering  into  partnership  with  his  father  in  the  practice  of 
law. 

The  miscarriage  of  the  contemplated  visit  was  a  great 
disappointment  to  Edith,  and  upon  learning  of  her  brother's 
illness,  but  a  few  days  elapsed  until  the  family  circle — that 
is,  what  remained  of  it — was  again  complete  around  the 
hearth-stone  of  "The  Cedars."  It  was  a  glorious  reunion. 
The  sharp  edge  of  the  former  great  sorrow  had  been  worn 
off  by  the  flight  of  time  and  the  cares  of  life.  The  bright 
and  glittering  star  of  hope  and  of  youth's  ambition  was  high 
in  its  ascendency.  Mirth,  laughter  and  song  again  filled  the 
old  home — except  an  aching,  gaping  void  in  the  bosom  of  the 
father,  who,  however,  jealously  guarded  the  secret  by  his 
every  word  and  act. 

Edith's  cheerful  nature  and  matronly  care  soon  mastered 
her  brother's  illness.  They  were  constant  companions,  as  in 
their  childhood  days.  Their  mutual  love  and  affection  were 
more  than  that  common  between  brother  and  sister,  but  they 
were  not  aware  of  the  fact.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  the  father 
to  witness  this  wonderful  love  and  affection  between  his 
children.  He  loved  them  as  father  never  loved,  so  Mr.  Mar- 
chand  thought,  and  he  was  in  turn  equally  loved  by  Walter 
and  Edith. 

39 


NORKOMA 

But  the  family  reunion  must  end  for  a  period — Edith  is 
to  return  to  the  college.  The  business  cares  of  the  office  had 
engaged  Mr.  Marchand's  whole  attention  since  the  time  he 
returned  to  his  desolate  home  and  took  up  the  battle  of  life, 
alone.  With  the  exception  of  a  few  short  visits  to  Edith 
and  Walter,  he  had  enjoyed  no  recreation  or  rest  from  his 
daily  routine  of  toil.  Xow  that  Walter  had  blossomed  into 
manhood,,  and  had  prepared  himself  to  carry  a  part  of  the 
burden,  Mr.  Marchand  looked  forward  upon  a  brighter  scene. 
He  could  now  devote  more  time  to  the  comforts  and  pleas 
ures  of  life. 

Therefore,  leaving  Walter  in  charge  of  the  office,  with 
certain  plain,  but  simple  instructions,  Mr.  Marchand, 
with  a  lighter  heart  than  he  had  for  a  long  time  en 
joyed,  accompanied  Edith  on  her  return  to  college.  Since 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Marchand,  the  only  beam  of  joy  he  had 
known  was  in  the  anticipation  of  his  own  Walter  and  Edith 
growing  into  a  beautiful  man  and  womanhood  that  would 
crown  his  declining  days  with  satisfaction.  But  now  that 
his  hopes  were  partly  realized,  the  darker  clouds  seemed  to 
clear  away,  and  there  was  promise  of  a  brighter  future  than 
he  had  thought. 

No  two  persons  could  have  been  sweeter  companions  upon 
that  journey  than  were  Edith  and  her  father.  Passengers 
upon  the  train  wondered  for  a  spell  if  they  were  lovers,  or 
bride  and  groom  on  their  honeymoon.  And,  when  they  were 
discovered  to  be  father  and  daughter,  they  at  once  became  the 
envied  of  all  about  them.  The  novelty  of  visiting  class  reci 
tations  with  Edith  brought  back  the  old  spirit  of  his  college 
days,  and  Mr.  Marchand  grew  perceptibly  younger  day  by 
day.  He  talked  with  the  teachers  and  faculty,  visited  the 

40 


A  FAMILIAR  FACE 

literary  societies,  and  enjoyed  the  exercises.  What  a  change 
these  associations  and  surroundings  brought  about  in  Mr. 
Marchand,  no  one  knew  better  than  himself.  He  found 
Editlrs  music  teacher  even  more  charming  and  beautiful 
than  she  had  been  pictured.  He  felt  glad  that  Edith  had 
found  so  good  and  true  a  friend  and  associate.  As  teacher 
and  pupil  were  almost  inseparable  after  school  hours,  the 
father  was  necessarily  made  the  third  one  of  the  party,  and 
this  companionship  was  a  pleasure  to  him. 

But  the  pleasurable  visit  could  not  be  indefinitely  ex 
tended.  The  call  to  duty  by  his  son's  side  now  began  ringing 
in  Mr.  Marchand's  ears,  and  he  made  preparations  to  leave. 

On  the  evening  of  his  departure,  while  in  the  parlor  await 
ing  the  preparations  of  Edith  and  her  teacher,  who  were 
to  accompany  him  to  the  train,  Mr.  Marchand  was  mechnic- 
ally  glancing  through  an  album  of  old  photographs.  The 
faces  were  all  strange  to  him,  and  elicited  little  or  no  inter 
est.  As  he  was  about  to  close  the  book,  by  chance  his  eyes 
fell  upon  a  photograph  that  at  first  attracted,  then  startled 
him.  It  was  an  old  photograph,  but  the  face  of  the  original 
stood  out  in  clear  cut  lines.  The  brows  of  Marchand  be 
came  drawn,  and  he  drew  his  hand  across  his  face  as  if  to 
brush  away  a  shadow  that  clouded  the  memory  of  the  past. 
Again  glancing  at  the  photograph,  he  exclaimed  to  himself : 
"I  have  seen  that  face  before." 

His  reverie  was  broken  by  the.  sudden  approach  of  his 
escorts.  The  album  dropped  from  his  hands  and  was  closed, 
but  the  incident  was  one  against  which  memory  would  not 
close.  With  many  happy  good-byes  and  numerous  messages 
for  Walter,  Mr.  Marchand  departed  for  his  home  with  a 
light  heart  and  buoyant  spirits,  but  with  a  tinge  of  pain,  or  a 

41 


NORKOMA 

mysterious  unforgetfulness  of  the  photograph  of  a  face  he 
somewhere,  at  some  time  in  the  dim  past,  had  seen  before, 
the  recollection  of  which  was  beclouded  and  shadowed. 

On  the  sleeper,  as  the  train  plunged  homeward,  when  he 
closed  his  eyes  the  photograph  continually  presented  itself 
before  his  mental  vision,  however  hard  he  tried  to  drive  it 
away  and  out  of  his  mind.  In  his  half  sleeping  moments, 
he  would  find  himself  repeating  the  words,  "I  have  seen  that 
face  before." 


42 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER 


CHAPTEE  VII. 
THE  YOUNG  LAWYER. 

When  Walter  Marchand  entered  his  father's  law  office  as 
partner  in  the  business,  he  realized  that  he  was  but  beginning 
the  study  of  law;  that  from  Kent,  Blackstone  and  other 
text  writers  he  had  only  obtained  principles,  axioms  and  max 
ims.  But,  here,  in  the  office  and  in  the  court,  he  found  the 
law  as  it  was  actually  practiced,  by  "precedent"  rather  than 
by  the  principles  laid  down  by  the  ancient  writers.  New  and 
ever  changing  conditions  in  the  affairs  of  mankind  required 
modification  of  many  of  these  ancient  principles,  and  our 
new  lawyer  soon  learned  to  adjust  them  to  harmonize  with 
the  present  conditions.  The  pleasure  of  being  free,  his  own 
master,  independent,  afforded  him  a  pleasurable  sensation 
he  had  not  before  known.  His  cordial  reception  by  the 
members  of  the  bar  was,  indeed,  a  great  satisfaction  to  the 
new  lawyer,  and  tended  in  a  great  measure  to  remove  the 
feeling  of  uncertainty  and  embarrassment  that  is  usually  ex 
perienced  by  the  beginner  in  the  practice  of  the  law. 

Being  a  student,  an  earnest,  industrious  man,  Walter  soon 
found  his  equilibrium,  and  readily  took  high  rank  among 
the  younger  practitioners. 

Young  Marchand  had  not  practiced  law  a  great  length  of 
time  when,  upon  a  certain  occasion,  he  was  appointed  by 

43 


NORKOMA 

r 

the  Criminal  Judge  to  defend  a  person  indicted  for  theft, 
but  who,  by  reason  of  poverty,  was  unable  to  procure  coun 
sel.  After  consultation  with  the  defendant,  wherein  that  per 
son  had  freely  and  frankly  admitted  his  guilt,  Walter 
returned  to  the  Court  and  modestly  declined  to  defend  the 
criminal. 

"State  your  reasons  for  declining  to  defend  this  man," 
roughly  demanded  the  Judge. 

"I  could  not  do  so,  sir,  lest  I  become  guilty  of  a  breach 
of  professional  confidence,"  replied  the  lawyer. 

"Then,  sir,  unless  you  can  assign  some  good  reason  for 
your  conduct  in  this  matter,  you  will  stand  subject  to  a 
fine,  and  perhaps  be  disbarred  from  the  practice  of  the 
law,"  returned  the  Court. 

"I  appreciate  the  gravity  of  this  seeming  offense  against 
the  Court,  and  I  also  realize  that  my  lips  are  sealed  against 
making'  known  the  conditions  which  give  rise  to  my  rebel 
lion  against  defending  the  accused.  I  must  say,  however, 
that  it  is  a  matter  of  conscientious  scruple,  a  religious  and 
moral  principle  that  must  have  been  born  in  me  at  my  birth, 
and  grown  with  my  growth,  and  which,  I  hope,  will  cling 
to  me  until  I  die.  This  dilemma  is  not  of  my  own  making. 
I  am  indeed  sorry  that  it  has  occurred,  and  without  desiring 
to  be  insubordinate,  I  cannot  do  otherwise  than  maintain  my 
position  though  I  be  fined,  or  even  disbarred  from  the  prac 
tice  of  my  chosen  profession." 

The  dignity  of  the  Court  had  been  offended.  The  Judge 
had  always  been  a  staunch  friend  of  LeBerte  Marchand,  and 
had  taken  a  sort  of  pride  in  the  son  upon  his  admission  to 
the  bar.  Personal  friendship,  however,  could  not  be  al 
lowed  to  interfere  with  the  "dignity  of  the  Court."  To  ad- 

44 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER 

judge  a  fine  or  a  jail  sentence  against  the  young  lawyer  would, 
perhaps,  break  down  his  high-strung  nature  and  lead  to 
unaccountable  results,  yet,  whatever  the  result,  the  author 
ity  of  the  law  must  be  maintained.  The  Judge  turned  to 
the  clerk  and  said : 

"The  clerk  of  the  Court  will  enter  up  a  fine  of  one  hun 
dred  dollars  against  Mr.  Marchand,  and  a  judgment  of  com 
mitment  to  jail.  The  Sheriff  will  take  charge  of  the  gen 
tleman  and  keep  him  in  confinement  until  he  purges  him 
self  of  the  offense  against  the  court." 

Walter  gazed  unflinchingly  into  the  eyes  of  the  Court  as  the 
judgment  was  being  passed.  His  face  flushed  and  paled  a? 
the  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind  of  the  great  mortifica 
tion  his  confinement  in  jail  would  bring  to  his  old  father  and 
his  sister.  His  heart  and  soul  rebelled  against  this  unjust 
decree  of  the  Court.  Fired  with  indignation,  he  appealed 
to  the  Court: 

<fYour  honor,  I  cannot  understand  how  I  am  guilty  of 
contempt  of  the  Court.  The  situation  is  not  one  of  my  own 
making.  The  Court  appointed  me  to  defend  an  accused 
person,  and  to  do  so  without  compensation  for  my  services. 
The  defendant  could  not  procure  my  services  in  his  behalf 
when  he  refused  to  follow  my  counsel,  were  he  to  offer  me 
a  fabulous  fee.  But  the  Court,  by  its  order,  seeks  to  compel 
me  to  do  that  which  no  amount  of  money  could  hire  me  to 
do,  and  in  my  refusal,  I  am  to  be  covered  with  humiliation 
and  disgrace.  What  for?  To  appease  the  whim  of  the 
Court?  Shall  I  lose  my  own  dignity,  suppress  my  con 
scientious  scruples,  and  outrage  myself  in  my  own  estima 
tion  for  the  poor  privilege  of  practicing  law  before  the 
Court?  That  I  can  not  and  will  not  do,  and  here  and  now 

45 


NORKOMA 

\ 

tender  my  resignation  as  an  officer  at  this  bar,  and  with  this, 
abandon  the  practice  of  law,  forever.  I  will  pay  the  fine  as 
sessed  against  me,  and,  being  no  longer  a  member  of  this  bar, 
the  Court  has  no  right  in  the  law  to  enter  further  sentence 
against  me." 

"But  the  sentence  was  entered  before  you  tendered  your 
resignation,"  said  the  Judge. 

"But  was  not  executed  in  whole  or  in  part,"  returned 
Walter. 

"The  sentence  of  the  Court  will  not  be  modified,  and  the 
Sheriff  will  take  charge  of  you  instanter,"  roared  the  Judge. 

"And  before  the  Sheriff  or  any  other  person  confines  me 
in  prison  upon  that  order,  there  will  be  spilling  of  human 
blood,"  replied  Walter  as  he  wheeled  and  hurried  out  of 
the  room  before  the  bailiff  had  an  opportunity  to  lay  hands 
upon  him. 

As  Walter  passed  out  by  one  door,  his  father  entered  by 
another,  and  upon  inquiry  as  to  the  apparent  commotion, 
ascertained  all  the  facts.  After  a  whispered  conversation 
with  the  Judge  of  the  Court,  the  fine  and  jail  sentence  were 
both  remitted  and  the  young  lawyer  fully  restored  to  his 
former  standing,  as  appeared  upon  the  record  of  the  Court. 

LeBerte  Marchand  took  up  the  defense  of  the  accused, 
whom  Walter  had  refused  to  represent,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  day  procured  a  verdict  of  "not  guilty"  from  a  jury, 
which  set  the  prisoner  free. 

When  the  elder  Marchand  arrived  that  evening  at  his  of 
fice  he  found  Walter  in  a  condition  of  absolute  despair,  al 
though  he  had  already  learned  of  the  Court's  action  absolv 
ing  him  from  the  orders  previously  entered.  He  was  grieved 

46 


and  hurt,  because  he  had  been  unjustly  held  up  to  public 
criticism,  as  he  thought. 

"What  reasons  had  you  for  not  defending  the  accused?" 
asked  the  father,  though  he  well  knew  in  advance  the  an 
swer. 

"The  man  confessed  his  guilt  to  me,  as  his  attorney,  and 
refused  to  either  plead  guilty  before  the  Court  or  to  allow 
me  to  enter  a  plea  for  him.  I  would  not  stultify  my  con 
science  by  defending  a  man  whom  I  knew  to  be  guilty  of  the 
crime  with  which  lie  is  charged.  I  could  not  be  employed 
to  do  so,  nor  forced  so  to  do  by  the  order  of  the  Court.  That 
is  why  I  refused,"  answered  Walter. 

"But,"  replied  the  father,  "while  the  man  may  have  been 
guilty  in  fact,  he  was  not  guilty  in  law.  That  is,  the  State 
could  net  establish  or  prove  his  guilt." 

"If  a  man  be  guilty  in  fact,  he  is  also  guilty  in  law,  for 
his  guilt,  or  crime,  lies  in  violating  the  law.  If  self-confessed 
criminals  are  to  be  turned  free  through  the  sharp  practice 
of  the  attorneys  appointed  by  the  court,  then  why  make  laws  ? 
Why  not  throw  open  the  prison  doors  and  abolish  law  mak 
ing  and  the  criminal  courts?  Ah,  father,  there  is  something 
wrong'  at  the  foundation  of  the  system.  The  lawyer  who, 
knowing  his  client  to  be  guilty  of  a  crime,  defends  him  and 
seeks  to  set  him  free,  is  like  the  hired  assassin — he  is  par- 
ticeps  criminis." 

"My  son,"  said  the  father,  "you  must  not  overlook  the  fact 
that  a  lawyer's  first  duty  is  to  his  client,  the  public  after 
wards." 

"No,  father,"  replied  Walter,  "the  lawyer's  first  duty  is  to 
uphold  the  sovereignty  of  the  law;  loyalty  to  his  countr}' 
and  its  laws,  then  his  client.  A  lawyer  is  but  an  officer  of 

47 


NORKOMA 

the  law,  the  same  as  the  Judge  upon  the  bench  whose  counsel 
and  adviser  he  is.  The  lawyer  who  knowingly  seeks  to  set 
a  criminal  free  at  the  expense  of  the  laws  of  the  State  is 
worse  than  the  criminal,  in  my  estimation.  Others  may  be 
employed  or  appointed  who  will,  but  I  now  serve  notice  on  t lie- 
bar  and  the  courts,  that  I  shall  never  defend  a  person  act 
ually  guilty  of  a  crime,  either  under  his  employment  or  by 
the  appointment  of  the  Court,  except  upon  one  condition, 
to-wit :  That  the  defendant  confess  his  guilt  before  the  Court 
and  the  jury,  and  plead  for  mercy." 

It  is  true  that  the  position  thus  taken  by  the  young  law- 
JBT  was  not  altogether  in  line  with  that  presumed  to  be  taken 
by  the  profession.  In  fact,  it  was  looked  upon  by  the  people 
as  an  innovation  in  the  practice  of  the  law.  The  news 
of  the  "honest  young  lawyer"  spread  over  the  city  with  great 
rapidity.  The  morning  papers  came  out  with  large  head 
lines  detailing  the  incident  accurately  and  commenting  upon 
the  ability,  integrity,  honor  and  moral  stamina  of  the  "rising 
young  lawyer." 

His  friends  flocked  to  his  office  to  congratulate  him. 
Strangers  also  came  to  see  this  wonderful  young  man  who 
would  rather  abandon  his  chosen  profession  than  to.  defend 
an  actually  guilty  man — would  decay  in  the  prison  cell  rather 
than  stultify  his  conscience.  Letters  came  to  him  from 
various  parts  of  the  State,  and  even  from  other  States  did 
the  young  lawyer  receive  letters  of  congratulation  and  en 
couragement. 

At  one  great  bound  Walter  Marchand  came  into  promi 
nence  throughout  his  city  and  State.  The  political  machine 
was  not  long  in  recognizing  his  great  popularity.  The  good 
people  of  the  city  had  long  prayed  in  their  hearts  for  an 

48 


THE  YOUNG  LAWYER 

honest  administrator  of  the  city's  affairs.  The  machine 
and  the  people  both  looked  at  Walter  Marchand  with  a 
covetous  eye.  The  machine  doubted  its  ability  to  control 
and  use  the  young  man  to  its  advantage  should  he  be  placed 
in  office.  The  people  doubted  their  a&lity  to  put  him  into 
office  against  the  all-powerful  machine.  They  did  not  doubt 
the  young  man's  absolute  fidelity  to  every  honest  cause. 
The  young  lawyer  had  never  dreamed  of  entering  the  polit 
ical  field.  He  abhorred  politics,  at  least  what  little  he  had 
seen  of  the  practice  of  "the  game  of  politics." 

Friends  of  the  machine  and  friends  of  the  people  both 
began  courting  the  good  graces  of  the  young  man.  The 
young  man  was  not  slow  in  deducing  conclusions.  He  smelled 
the  battle  from  afar,  and  looked  on  with  graceful  placidity, 
to  the  surprise  of  his  friends  who  would  have  been  glad 
to  jump"  at  the  opportunity  of  procuring  official  position 
and  distinction.  To  his  father,  whom  he  made  his  steadfast 
confident,  he  would  say: 

"I  am  but  a  boy;  I  am  not  capable  of  assuming  official 
position,  even  were  I  by  nature  inclined  in  that  direction. 
My  desire  is  to  become  a  good  lawyer,  but  above  all,  to  be  and 
become  a  good  citizen.  I  have  observed  what  public  office 
has  done  for  some  of  our  acquaintances.  I  learn  that  when 
they  entered  public  life  they  were  prosperous  and  honored 
citizens.  Today  one  of  them  begged  of  me  a  dime  to  buy 
a  cup  of  coffee,  but  he  bought  poor  whiskey  instead." 

"But,"  rejoined  the  father,  "all  people  in  public  life  are 
not  thus  affected.  Some  of  them  are  degenerate,  it  is  true, 
but  I  think  the  majority  of  them  profit  by  it.  My  observa 
tion  has  been  that  many  of  them  have  done  real  well,  finan 
cially/' 

49 


NORKOMA 

"Perhaps  so,"  answered  Walter,  "but  whence  came  the 
finances,  the  wealth?  Did  the  legal  and  honest  emoluments 
of  the  office  make  them  rich,  or  was  it  what  some  people 
call  'the  perquisites'?" 

"Oh,  well,  it  migh^be  said  that  it  was  both,  in  some  in 
stances,"  returned  the  father.  "There  are  many  instances 
where  the  official  position  gives  one  a  foreknowledge  of 
events  and  contingencies  that  afford  an  unexcelled  op 
portunity  for  profitable  investment.  For  instance,  a  certain 
street  is  to  be  paved,  or  a  certain  public  improvement  is  to 
be  made  in  a  certain  locality  which  will  greatly  enhance  the 
values.  That  is  but  one  instance — -thousands  might  be  men 
tioned.  Certain  officials  are  in  the  possession  of  this  knowl 
edge  and  take  advantage  of  it,  make  it  profitable  to  them 
selves.  The  people  at  large  learn  of  these  things  when  too 
late." 

"I  am  aware  of  the  many  advantages  of  that  character 
which  puhlic  life  affords,  but  I  am  also  aware  of  the  many 
disadvantages  it  entails.  For  the  present  I  shall  give  my  at 
tention  to  my  law  practice  and  let  the  world  'wag  along/'1 


50 


THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 
THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER. 

Edith,  in  her  Northern  school  home,  read  the  news  articles 
of  her  brother's  sudden  bound  into  popular  favor  and  no 
toriety,  and  was  delighted  beyond  expression.  She  devoted 
hours,  almost  daily,  writing  letters  of  love  and  congratula 
tion  to  her  brother  and  father.  Frequently  those  letters 
would  contain  expressions  of  her  music  teacher,  Mrs.  Olcott, 
regarding  the  father  and  brother.  True,  Mrs.  Olcott  had 
never  met  the  brother,  but  from  her  long  companionship 
with  his  sister,  she  felt  that  she  already  loved  him  as  she 
did  Edith.  One  of  the  greatest  desires  of  the  motherly  little 
teacher  was  to  meet  her  pupil's  brother. 

Letters  full  of  prayers  and  pleading  from  Edith  could 
not  draw  the  young  lawyer  away  from  his  duties  at  the  of 
fice  and  the  court.  He  was  in  love  with  his  profession,  and 
its  duties  took  precedence  over  all  else. 

The  father  and  son  agreed  that  Edith  should  have  more 
attention  from  them,  and  that  a  visit  should  be  made  her. 
The  suggestion  by  the  son  that  the  father  should  be  the  visitor 
was  not  in  the  least  opposed  by  the  elder  gentleman.  It  ap 
peared  to  Walter  that  the  father  was  really  anxious  to  visit 
the  Northern  school  where  Edith  attended,  but  it  was  only 
a  passing  thought. 

51 


NORKOMA 

Edith  and  Mrs.  Olcott  were  greatly  rejoiced  when  they 
received  word  of  the  father's  coming.  No  man  was  ever 
more  heartily  welcomed  than  was  Mr.  Marchand  upon  his 
arrival.  There  was  a  short  vacation  of  three  days,  and  they 
were  filled  with  genuine  pleasure.  It  was  in  beautiful  Oc 
tober.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  were  shaded  with  a  golden 
hue,  and  the  chestnut  burs  were  open.  The  bracing  autumn 
breezes  mingled  with  the  welcome  sunshine  to  paint  the 
flush  of  health  upon  the  cheeks,  and  to  invigorate  the  body 
and  mind  of  him  who  roamed  the  open  fields  or  tramped 
the  forest,  carpeted  with  new  fallen  leaves. 

Edith,  a  lovely,  lithesome  lass,  overflowing  with  joy,  mirth 
and  laughter;  Mrs.  Olcott,  beautiful,  queenly  and  lovable; 
Mr.  Marchand,  handsome,  gentlemanly,  and  with  a  nature 
just  ready  to  burst  from  a  long  confinement  in  sorrow's  prison- 
house,  made  up  a  little  party  ripe  and  ready  to  enjoy  to  the 
fullest  the  freedom  of  the  field,  farm  and  wood.  To  the 
two  elder  people  of  the  little  party,  this  outing  brought 
back,  with  full  force,  the  memories  of  childhood's  happy 
days.  How  the  images  of  long  ago  lingered  in  memory's 
picture  gallery!  All,  in  the  brightest  of  tints  and  colors. 
They  again,  saw  the  sunshine,  the  birds  and  the  flowers  of 
their  youthful  days.  In  the  hard  tramp  of  years  they  had 
walked  through  the  shades  of  forgetfulness,  but  now  the 
warm  sunshine  of  memory  sifted  through  the  clouds  of  sor 
row,  bringing  back  to  them  the  days  when  hills  and  valleys 
were  alike  pleasant  to  the  joyful  tread  of  cheerful  youth — 
when  bumps  and  rills  and  gulleys  and  hills  in  the  path  of 
life  ahead  are  covered  as  with  the  soft,  white  snow  that 
covers  the  irregular  contour  of  the  mountain,  peak  and  val 
ley.  Oh,  it  was  a  joy,  a  pleasure  supreme  to  our  little  trio, 


THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER 

no  one  of  which  drank  of  the  pleasure  more  eagerly  than 
Mr.  Marchand.  It  was  to  his  mind  and  spirit  as  wine  to 
the  stomach.  No  wonder  was  it  that  he  and  his  daughter's 
teacher  were  frequently  observed  as  unconsciously  drawing 
together  under  some  chestnut  tree,  gazing  into  each  other's 
eyes  and  relating  the  experience  of  their  youthful  days,  until 
they  became  wholly  oblivious  to  all  around  them. 

Upon  such  occasions,  and  with  a  roguish  sparkle  in  her 
eye,  Edith  might  have  been  heard  saying  to  herself,  "I 
think  I  smell  a  mouse."  Then  she  would  innocently  find  her 
attention  engaged  at  something  a  short  distance  apart  from 
her  companions,  so  as  to  allow  the  situation  to  grow  per- 
plexingly  interesting  by  her  sudden  reappearance  and  in 
terruption. 

Edith  loved  the  little  teacher  with  her  whole  heart.  From 
their  companionship  their  lives  almost  became  an  open  book, 
each  to  the  other.  The  warm  affection  was  thoroughly  mu 
tual  between  them.  With  the  coming  of  spring,  Edith  would 
finish  her  course  of  study  at  the  school,  and  would  leave  for 
her  Southern  home.  The  thought  of  the  separation  was 
equally  distressing  to  both  teacher  and  pupil.  Edith  did  not 
hesitate  to  frequently  mention  the  subject  in  the  presence  of 
her  father,  though  she  at  first  did  not  observe  the  passing 
of  sympathetic,  or  perhaps  knowing,  glances  between  the  two 
elder  persons. 

"You  are  really  not  jealous  of  your  little  teacher,  are  you, 
Edith?"  asked  the  father  upon  one  occasion. 

"Oh,  indeed  no,  I  would  only  be  too  glad  to  have  a  cause 
for  jealousy,"  answered  Edith,  as  she  coyly  slipped  her  arm 
around  the  waist  of  her  companion-teacher. 

Mrs.  Olcott  flushed  a  little  and  adroitly  turned  the  con- 

53 


versation  to  other  subjects.  True,  she  was  not  at  heart 
averse  to  changing  her  mode  of  life,  and  especially  should 
an  opportunity  afford,  which  would  permit  her  to  retain  the 
agreeable  companionship  of  her  pupil.  Mrs.  Olcott  was  as 
discreet  a  little  woman  as  she  was  lovable,  and  being  the 
soul  of  honor,  she  would  not  make  use  of  any  of  the  little,  be 
witching  wiles,  so  exclusively  the  inheritance  of  the  gentler 
sex,  so  as  to  lead  Mr.  Marchand  forward  to  the  consumma 
tion  of  the  object  which  she  believed  was  being  formed  in 
his  mind.  No  matter  what  her  feeling  may  have  been,  or 
how  much  her  soul  went  out  toward  Mr.  Marchand,  it  must 
remain  a  sacred  secret  within  her  own  bosom.  Not  even 
Edith  should  suspect  the  truth;  nor  should  she  admit  the 
truth  to  herself.  If,  when  the  proper  time  came,  should 
that  time  ever  come,  she  would  frankly  confess  the  truth 
and  thank  God  for  His  goodness  to  her.  So  ran  her  thoughts 
as  she  sat  one  evening  at  the  piano  thrumming  in  a  desul 
tory  sort  of  way  upon  the  keyboard,  and  humming  "The  Lost 
Chord." 

Edith  and  her  father  were  out  walking,  and  as  they  ap 
proached  the  house,  the  daughter  was  reminded  of  the  fact 
that  she  had  promised  to  call  upon  a  friend.  She  there 
fore  directed  her  father  to  go  in  the  house,  saying  that  she 
would  follow  immediately  after  performing  her  errand. 

Mr.  Marchand  stepped  lightly  upon  the  porch,  unheard  by 
the  singer  within.  He  stopped  and  listened  as  if  charmed  by 
the  music.  The  music  ceased  for  a  moment,  then  began 
again,  a  beautiful,  plaintive  melody  that  rose  and  fell  like 
the  waves  of  the  sea.  Then  with  a  sudden  change,  a  fierce 
storm  of  melody  pealed  forth  from  the  piano  with  such  mag-  • 
nificent  execution  that  Mr.  Marchand  could  see  before  his 

54 


THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER 

mental  vision  the  charging  and  retreating  forces  of  an  army 
at  battle.  The  thundering  of  the  cannon,  and  the  roar  of 
the  musketry,  mingled  with  the  rhythmic  strains  as  they 
floated  out  upon  the  evening  air,  was  plainly  perceptible  and 
audible  to  the  listener.  Then  came  the  after  calm  of  battle, 
the  patter  of  the  rain,  the  going  into  camp,  the  bugle  taps 
— all  with  that  marvelous  and  mysterious  execution  that 
thrilled  the  soul  of  Mr.  Marchand,  and  caused  him  to  almost 
doubt  his  senses. 

The  music  ceased,  the  listener  stepped  to  the  door  and 
gazed  in  upon  the  wonderful  musician  who  rested  her  reclin 
ing  head  upon  her  arms,  which  were  folded  across  the  key 
board  of  the  piano-,  as  if  in  sorrow  or  in  deep  meditation. 
"Shall  I  approach  and  arouse  her  from  her  dreams,  what 
ever  they  may  be?"  thought  Mr.  Marchand.  He  decided  not 
to  disturb  her.  The  shades  of  evening  were  gathering  fast 
about  the  scene.  In  the  growing  darkness  of  the  room  the 
outline  of  the  wonderful  musician  could  scarcely  be  discerned. 
Mr.  Marchand  retraced  his  steps  to  the  gate,  where  he  stood 
and  gazed  at  the  starry  canopy  above,  the  following  beauti 
ful  lines  of  verse  running  through  his  mind : 

"Music !   0  how  faint,  how  weak, 
Language  fades  before  thy  spell ! 
Why  should  feeling  ever  speak 
When  thou  canst  breathe  her  soul  so  well? 
Friendship's  balmy  words  may  feign, 
Love's  are  e'en  more  false  than  they; 
Oh,  'tis  only  music's  strain 
Can  sweetly  soothe  and  not  betray." 

— Moore. 

55 


NORKOMA 

How  long  he  stood  by  the  gate,  musing  or  dreaming,  Mr. 
Marchand  did  not  know,  or  how  long  he  might  have  contin 
ued  to  contemplate  the  starry  canopy,  had  he  not  been  in 
terrupted  by  a  passerby,  was  a  problem  difficult  of  solution. 
Eecovering  from  his  reverie,  he  discovered  the  room  all  aglow 
with  light.  He  again  approached  the  door,  and  was  welcomely 
received  by  the  wonderful  little  musician  whose  excellent 
execution  had  driven  him  into  dreamland  a  short  while  be 
fore.  Naturally,  their  conversation  drifted  to  the  subject 
of  music. 

"I  cannot  refrain  from  complimenting  you  very  highly 
upon  your  rare  musical  skill/'  said  the  gentleman.  "It  has 
been  my  pleasure  to  listen  to  the  efforts  of  many  professional 
artists,  but  permit  me  to  say  that  I  have  never  heard  your 
equal." 

"I  am  pleased  to  accept  the  compliment  in  the  same  spirit 
in  which  I  feel  sure  it  is  given,  but  I  fear  you  are  inclined 
to  accept  as  conclusive  the  opinion  of  Edith,  whom  I  know 
overrates  my  poor  abilities." 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Mr.  Marchand,  for  he  knew  that  the 
musician  was  totally  ignorant  of  his  presence  a  short  while 
before,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  been  an  eavesdropper.  "I  will 
confess  that  upon  approaching  the  house  this  evening,  I 
heard  you  singing,  and  I  stopped  to  listen.  It  was  beauti 
ful.  I  would  not  interrupt  you  by  entering.  The  song 
ceased,  and,  as  I  was  about  to  approach,  the  music  began 
again,  and  again  I  halted,  entranced.  I  waited,  heard  it 
through — one  of  the  most  brilliantly  executed  masterpieces 
to  which  I  have  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  listening.  I  really 
never  knew  that  a  piano  could  be  made  to  produce  such  won 
derful  music." 

56 


THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER 

"Oh,  Mr.  Marchand,  you  are  either  jesting,  or  you  do  me  an 
injustice  by  overestimating  my  poor  abilities,"  returned  Mrs. 
Olcott. 

After  further  conversation  along  this  line,  Mr.  Marchand 
continued : 

"Edith  tells  me  you  are  a  native  of  our  beautiful  South 
land/' 

"Yes,  of  dear  old  Tennessee,  though  I  have  not  visited  my 
native  state  in  a  number  of  years/' 

"You  frequently  visit  your  folks  and  friends,  I  judge?" 
inquired  Marchand. 

"My  folks  are  all  gone,"  said  the  little  woman,  with  a  more 
tender  tone,  casting  her  eyes  downward.  "None  of  them 
are  living,  so  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn.  My  father  and 
brother  fell  in  battle  during  the  war.  Father  was  an  en 
thusiastic  Southerner,  and  of  course  his  fortunes  went  in 
support  of  the  cause  he  believed  right." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  interjected  Marchand.  "But  if  I 
do  not  seem  rude,  may  I  inquire  what  was  your  father's 
name  ?" 

"Of  course.    My  father's  name  was  Henry  J.  Wingate." 

"And  you  are  the  daughter  of  Henry  Jackson  Wingate? 
Your  brother's  name  was  Lee  Wingate,  and  with  whom  I 
marched  side  by  side  in  the  same  company.  Why,  God  bless 
you,  little  woman,"  said  Marchand  as  he  clasped  her  out 
stretched  hand  in  both  his  own,  then  turned  to  brush  away 
a  tear  that  trickled  down  his  cheek.  After  a  pause,  he  con 
tinued  : 

"Lee  and  I  were  mere  boys,  but  a  braver,  truer  boy  never 
shouldered  a  musket  than  your  brother.  I  was  not  with  him 

57 


NORKOMA 

when  he  fell,  but  I  heard  of  his  death.  He  was  a  soldier, 
every  inch  a  soldier." 

The  two  persons  now,  having  crossed  the  line  of  cold  for 
mality,  became  close  friends  through  that  mystic  tie  con 
nected  with  the  history  of  the  past,  which  sometimes  has 
made  friends  of  strangers,  and  companions  of  new  found 
friends.  Instead  of  wandering  up  and  down  the  well  beaten 
path  of  formality,  they  loitered  along  the  happy  valley  of 
springtide,  where  rippling  waters  echo  to  the  music  of 
joyous  mirth,  and  where  the  warm  sunshine  of  loving  friend 
ship  brings  pleasant  scenes  of  continual  summer.  ' 

"Poor  little  exile,"  thought  Marchand,  as  his  eyes,  full 
of  sympathy,  feasted  upon  the  fair  and  beautiful  creature  be 
fore  him.  There  ran  through  his  mind  Mrs.  Osgood's  lines, 
as  follows: 

"An  exile,  ill  in  heart  and  frame — 
A  wanderer,  weary  of  the  way; 
A  stranger,  without  love's  sweet  claim 
On  any  heart,  go  where  (she)  I  may!" 

There  also  ran  through  his  mind  the  thoughts  of  his  home 
— his  almost  desolate  home,  and  the  necessity  of  a  mistress 
there,  now  that  Edith  was  soon  to  return,  an  educated  and  re 
fined  young  lady.  Visions  of  a  queenly  matron,  a  wonderful 
musician,  as  gracing  the  old  home,  "The  Cedars,"  ran  through 
his  mind.  What  he  might  have  next  said  to  the  little 
woman  may  only  be  surmised,  but  whatever  it  might  have 
been  was  forestalled  by  Edith  breaking  pell-mell  into  the 
room,  with  a  merry,  ringing  laugh,  begging  her  "dear  dad's 
pardon"  for  remaining  so  long,  then  adding: 

58 


THE  LITTLE  MUSIC  TEACHER 

"But  I  know  you  were  well  entertained,  papa,  for  teacher 
is  such  splendid  company." 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed.  We  put  in  the  time  pleasantly,  and  had 
really  forgotten — 

"Oho,  I  caught  you,  daddy.  You  really  forgot  that  your 
little  girl  was  in  existence.  Very  well,  the  next  time  I  shall 
be  in  no  very  great  haste  to  perform  my  errands,"  said  Edith, 
throwing  her  arms  around  he  father's  neck,  and  showering 
kisses  upon  his  forehead. 

The  trio  whiled  away  the  happy  moments  in  social  chat, 
interspersed  with  music,  and  wondered  that  time  had  flown 
on  such  rapid  wings.  All  formalities  between  them  had  been 
abandoned,  and  to  an  onlooker  it  would  have  appeared  as  a 
happy  little  family.  Mr.  Marchand  was  to  leave  for  home  the 
next  morning  by  an  early  train,  and  after  procuring  Mrs. 
Olcott's  promise  to  visit  his  home  with  Edith  during  the 
Christmas  vacation,  he  bade  them  good  night,  and  the  little 
music  teacher  and  her  pupil  were  again  alone. 

Long  after  Edith  had  retired  for  the  night  the  little  teacher 
sat  in  her  room,  thinking.  She  pondered  over  her  whole 
life.  Well  did  she  recall  the  time  when  Wilkoma  Olcott  first 
came  into  her  young  life.  She  was  but  eighteen,  then.  Her 
mother  was  dead,  and  her  father  and  only  brother  were  in 
the  Southern  army.  Wilkoma  Olcott  was  a  handsome,  genial 
fellow,  and,  to  all  appearances,  he  was  a  gentleman.  The  two 
met,  fell  desperately  in  love,  and  were  married. 

Olcott  wore  a  soldier's  uniform,  of  gray,  and  tarrying  but 
a  short  time  after  the  marriage,  his  services  were  demanded 
at  the  front,  so  he  claimed.  Again  and  again  he  went  away 
and  returned.  Finally,  a  son  was  born  to  them.  His  actions 
were*  strange,  but  his  accounts  of  the  war  appeared  to  be 

59 


NORKOMA 

regular.  He  went  away  again  as  suddenly  as  he  had  come. 
Again  he  reappeared,  and  his  actions  seemed  stranger  than 
before.  He  begged  his  little  wife  to  go  with  the  child  across 
the  lines  into  the  Northern  country,  pledging  her  safe  pas 
sage. 

After  long  and  earnest  pleading,  with  full  confidence  in 
the  man  she  loved,  her  consent  was  given.  Taking  full  in 
structions  as  to  the  manner  and  mode  of  travel,  she  to  travel 
alone,  he  to  bring  the  child  and  meet  her  in  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 
From  that  day  forward,  she  had  never  seen  nor  heard  of  her 
husband  nor  her  child.  What  became  of  them  she  never 
knew.  For  twenty-five  years  they  were  as  much  lost  to  her 
as  if  they  had  been  dead.  For  aught  she  knew  they  were 
dead.  But  to  know  that  they  were  dead  would  be  a  blessed 
relief,  which  thought  now  impressed  itself  upon  her  mind 
more  than  ever  before.  The  thought  that  this  uncertainty 
might  now  prove  a  bar  to  the  prospects  of  a  happy  ending  to 
her  life  of  solitude  and  sorrow  was  galling,  and  against 
which  her  whole  nature  revolted.  Eising  to  her  feet,  she  ex 
claimed  : 

'TRight  and  justice  shall  prevail,  as  God  shall  be  my 
judge!" 


60 


THE  PROPOSAL 


CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  PROPOSAL. 

The  Christmas  vacation  was  a  royal  holiday  at  the  old 
home,  "The  Cedars."  Whatever  had  been  the  former  disap 
pointments  between  Edith  and  Walter  they  were  not  to  be 
repeated  upon  this  occasion.  Edith  and  her  teacher  had  prom 
ised  Mr.  Marchand  that  the  vacation  should  be  passed  in  the 
old  home.  They  required  him,  as  a  penalty  for  this  pleas 
ure,  to  come  and  fetch  them  home.  The  task  was  an  exceed 
ingly  pleasant  one  for  Mr.  Marchand.  Indeed,  he  had 
looked  forward  to  it  for  weeks,  and  was  glad  when  the  time 
came  for  his  journey.  It  might  not  appear  necessary  to 
state  that  "The  Cedars"  had  been  recently  renovated  from 
garret  to  cellar,  but  it  is  a  fact,  nevertheless.  We  may  not 
stop  to  inquire  into  the  veriest  cause  of  this  trimming  up  and 
the  beautifying  of  the  old  home.  Walter  Marchand  looked 
on  as  the  work  progressed,  but  asked  not  a  question  of  the 
father  who  managed  the  affair.  It  was  the  father's  house 
and  home,  and  if  the  father  cared  to  "put  on  new  fixings," 
it  need  not  cause  the  son  to  become  inquisitive. 

Walter  knew  that  Edith  was  coming  home  for  the  holi 
days  and  that  she  would  have  company.  It  was  commend 
able  in  the  father  to  "spruce  up"  for  his  daughter,  who,  in 
Walter's  mind,  was  the  very  queen  of  all  girls,  even  though 

61 


NORKOMA 

she  was  his  sister.  Walter  was  truly  in  love  with  his  sister, 
and  Edith  was  as  much  in  love  with  her  brother.  They 
loved  each  other  as  only  the  greatest  of  lovers  may  love,  but 
they  were  not  cognizant  of  the  fact.  They  believed  that 
all  brothers  and  sisters  loved  each  other  in  the  same 
way.  Their  letters  were  full  of  expressions  of  love.  A 
stranger  would  have  construed  those  letters  as  passing  between 
lovers  that  must  soon  meet  and  unite  in  wedlock,  or  die  of 
broken  hearts.  But  they  were  letters  between  brother  and  sis 
ter,  where  wedlock  was  prohibited.  The  knowledge  of  that  fact 
served  as  a  sort  of  pacific  antidote,  and  they  lived  on  and 
loved  in  contentment.  To  find  a  place  in  their  hearts  for  the 
love  of  another,  such  as  they  experienced  each  for  the  other 
was  impossible.  They  were  satisfied.  Would  this  holy  sat 
isfaction  hold  out  against  time  with  its  allurements?  Only 
time  can  answer  the  question. 

The  nearest  approach  to  a  similar  love  was  that  of  Edith 
and  her  teacher,  Mrs.  Olcott.  Happily,  this  affection  was 
not  a  one-sided  affair.  It  was  natural.  The  proposed  visit 
to  "The  Cedars"  was  to  develop  a  still  closer  relation  between 
them,  which  each  felt,  perhaps,  without  the  passing  of  words. 
The  thought  and  hope  were  almost  too  sacred  to  be  the  sub 
ject  of  discussion  between  them.  (Mrs.  Olcott  could  read 
the  thoughts  and  desires  of  her  pupil,  and  she  did  it  in 
silence  and  prayer.  The  time  colild  not  come  too  quickly 
for  the  little  woman.  Mr.  Marchand's  letters  to  Edith  al 
ways  contained  a  few  lines  for  Mrs.  Olcott.  Occasionally  a 
perfumed  letter  with  the  post  mark  of  "Xew  Orleans"  came 
for  Mrs.  Olcott.  Edith  knew  the  handwrite.  She  smiled, 
but  said  nothing.  She  only  hoped  and  prayed,  and  in  her 
hopes  and  prayers  she  was  not  alone.  Another's  heart  beat 

62 


THE  PROPOSAL 

with  hope.  Another's  lips  breathed  similar  prayers.  Not 
even  a  suspicious  whisper  did  Edith  relate  to  Walter,  her 
dearest  brother,  who  knew  her  every  other  hope  and  ambi 
tion.  To  Edith  it  was  too  sacred  a  hope  to  dampen  with  the 
dew  of  gossip. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  hopes  and  ambitions  of  Le- 
Berte  Marchand  in  the  matter,  he  had  guarded  the  same  with 
the  secrecy  of  the  grave.  Walter  may  have  had  suspicions, 
but  if  so  he  gathered  them  from  the  circumstances  that  came 
under  his  observation,  and  not  from  any  unguarded  remarks 
of  the  father.  Upon  one  occasion,  however,  while  the  im 
provements  were  being  made  at  "The  Cedars,"  Walter  might 
have  been  heard  to  remark  that:  "An  old  fox  is  mighty 
hard  to  catch,"  but  what  he  meant  by  the  words  can  only  be 
surmised.  Walter  felt  that  if  the  father  had  any  intentions 
of  changing  his  mode  of  life,  there  need  not  be  such  abso 
lute  secrecy  about  the  affair.  He  believed  that  if  Edith  had 
the  least  suspicion  of  such  a  thing  she  would  have  told 
him  of  it  ere  this.  To  his  mind  there  could  be  but  one 
person,  and  that  was  Mrs.  Olcott,  of  and  about  whom  Edith 
always  filled  each  letter  to  the  limit. 

Now,  that  the  little  lady  was  to  visit  "The  Cedars"  with 
Edith,  no  doubt  the  "murder  would  out."  It  would  be  a 
surprise  to  everybody,  if  such  should  happen.  Walter  was 
not  in  the  least  opposed  to  his  father's  marriage.  Indeed, 
he  would  long  ago  have  so  advised  if  the  father  had  signi 
fied  a  desire  for  his  counsel  in  that  behalf.  Walter 
knew  that  the  natural  state  of  man  is  the  married  state; 
that  the  man  who  goes  through  life  without  a  com 
panion  simply  exists  awhile,  then  passes  away  without 
having  known  the  pleasures  of  life.  Often  did  the  young 

63 


NORKOMA 

man  picture  in  his  mind  the  happy  fireside  of  a  cozy  Home 
where  the  young  wife  meets  the  husband  at  the  gate  with 
a  loving  kiss  as  he  comes  from  his  daily  toil.  Where,  in 
the  morning,  as  he  leaves  for  his  labors,  he  carries  with  him 
the  loving  impress  of  ruby  lips  upon  his  own,  and  a  cheering 
word  of  comfort  in  his  heart,  the  parting  words  of  a  sweet 
wife.  A  home  where  the  one  man  loves  the  one  woman,  whom 
he  calls  his  wife,  and  where  the  one  man,  the  husband,  is  the 
beloved  above  all  else  by  the  one  who  hails  him  as  husband. 

The  bonds  of  sympathy,  love  and  affection  in  such  a  home 
are  so  inseparable,  that  if  misfortune  come  and  sweep  away 
all  earthly  wealth,  such  true,  loyal  and  companionable 
souls  may  yet  make  their  home  in  a  poor  tent,  around 
which  the  angry  blasts  of  winter  blow,  but  the  fires  of  love 
in  their  hearts  always  burning  brightly  will  radiate  against 
the  sides  of  the  tattered  tent,  revealing  pictures  more  beau 
tiful,  more  sacred,  richer  and  rarer  than  ever  adorned  the 
halls  of  stately  mansion  or  graced  the  palace  of  king.  The 
music  of  the  infant's  cry  that  comes  from  the  home-made 
cradle  in  the  corner,  is  sweeter  to  the  ear  of  the  father  and 
mother  than  would  be  the  Aeolian  strains  from  the  silver 
stringed  orchestra  hidden  in  the  palm-leaved  bower  of  the 
rich  man's  sumptuous  dining  hall. 

True,  Walter's  father  had,  for  many  years,  known  the  hap 
piness  of  all  that  the  words  home  and  family  meant,  but 
that  was  no  reason  for  his  being  deprived  of  that  happiness 
in  his  old  and  declining  years.  His  former  happiness  only 
tended  to  increase  the  contrast  between  the  past  and  the 
present.  Walter  would,  therefore,  hail  the  day  that  could 
bring  back  to  his  father  even  a  semblance  of  the  old,  old 

64 


THE  PROPOSAL 

days.  As  he  thus  mused,  sitting  in  his  office,  he  was  startled 
by  a  messenger  who  brought  him  the  following  message: 

"Edith,  Mrs.  Olcott  and  myself  will  arrive  on  evening  0. 
&  C.  train.  Meet  us.  L.  M." 

"And  now  the  social  farce  begins,"  said  Walter  to  him 
self. 

"I  am  mighty  busy  these  days,  but  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
make  the  best  of  it  for  the  time  being.  I  shall  have  Edith 
with  me,  God  bless  her.  I  wonder  if  loving  a  girl  you  could 
marry  would  be  like  the  love  I  have  for  Edith.  I  don't 
suppose  I  ever  will  love  a  girl  so  that  I  would  want  to  marry. 
The  fact  is,  I've  never  loved  any  girl  except  sister  Edith,  and 
somehow  I  don't  care  to.  I'll  swear  if  it  isn't  a  puzzle.  All 
the  other  boys  in  college  had  sweethearts  but  me — I  didn't 
care  for  a  sweetheart.  I  was  satisfied  with  my  correspondence 
with  sister  Edith,  and  longed  for  her  visits  just  as  if  she 
were  my  real  sweetheart.  And  Edith  seems  to  hold  me  in 
similar  regard.  I  wonder  if  she  will  likely  fall  in  love  with 
some  fellow,  sooner  or  later?  By  thunder — " 

Walter  was  astonished  to  find  himself  rising  to  his  feet 
with  clenched  fist,  the  blood  rushing  to  his  face,  at  the  same 
time  experiencing  a  bitter  pang  of  jealousy.  He  quickly 
drove  the  feeling  from  his  mind  by  saying  that  Edith  was 
his  sister,  and  that  her  life  was  her  own  to  do  with  as  best 
suited  her  purpose. 

The  entrance  of  a  client  suddenly  cleared  his  mind  of  all 
relation  to  the  subject,  and  he  was  kept  busy  until  time  to 
meet  the  family  at  the  train.  He  would  have  much  rather 
had  "the  folks"  gone  to  "The  Cedars"  and  met  them  there. 
He  knew  that  he  would  be  literally  covered  with  boxes  and 
bundles  of  all  sorts,  which  Edith  would  be  sure  to  bring 

65 


NORKOMA 

with  her;  and  he  detested  the  task  of  looking  after  hoi  id  a  y 
luggage.  To  make  it  more  convenient,  he  engaged  an  extra 
conveyance  which  he  stationed  at  the  nearest  point  to  the 
depot  entrance. 

At  last  the  train  came.  Down  the  aisle  he  spied  his  visit 
ors,  and  sure  enough  they  were  loaded  down  with  band  boxes 
and  packages.  Walter  laughed  as  he  remarked,  mentally: 
"Sweet  little  Edith  wouldn't  know  how  to  travel  unless 
she  had  a  cart  load  of  boxes."  Edith  did  not  see  her  brother 
until  she  almost  ran  against  him  at  the  exit.  Her  load  of 
boxes  flew  in  every  direction  as  she  freed  her  arms,  only  to 
encircle  them  around  Walter's  neck  in  loving  embrace,  re 
gardless  of  the  passing  throng.  Some  stared,  others  smiled 
and  passed  on,  but  little  did  brother  and  sister  heed  the 
curious  world  about  them.  Then  came  the  formal  introduc 
tion  of  Walter  and  Mrs.  Oleott,  followed  by  the  gathering 
up  of  the  packages,  and  proceeding  to  the  conveyances. 

"Father,  you  and  Mrs.  Oleott  take  this  carriage  and  I  will 
take  Edith  and  her  toy  boxes  in  this  one,"  said  Walter,  as 
they  stepped  out  upon  the  curb. 

"Oh,  you  need  not  speak  so  lightly  of  my  luggage,  Mr. 
Walter,  or  you  will  not  see  Santa  Glaus  this  Christmas," 
petulantly  cried  Edith,  as  they  entered  the  carriage  and  were 
driven  toward  the  dear  old  home,  "The  Cedars." 

"How  do  you  like  the  appearance  of  my  teacher  and 
friend?"  asked  Edith  the  very  moment  they  were  ensconced 
in  the  cab. 

"Oh,  I  could  not  help  admiring  her  long,  long  ago,  from 
the  constantly  employed  compliments  in  your  letters.  I 
felt  that  I  had  known  her  all  my  life,  the  moment  I  saw  her. 
I  think  she  must  be  a  lovelv  woman." 


THE  PROPOSAL 

"Yes,  and  you  shall  love  her  more  and  more  as  you  become 
better  acquainted.  I  think  she  took  a  fancy  for  you  long 
ago,  for  I  have  seen  her  sit  and  look  at  your  picture  for  long 
periods  of  time,  especially  the  picture  you  had  taken  when 
you  were  rather  young.'' 

"You  and  Mrs.  Olcott  are  such  inseparable  friends,  it  will 
be  hard  to  part  when  you  finish  college  in  the  spring." 

''Yes,  indeed  it  will,  if  we  have  to  part  at  all,"  said  Edith, 
glancing  askance  at  her  brother,  which  aroused  his  curiosity. 

"I  do  not  understand,  Edith?  Why  do  you  subjoin  the 
doubtful  mode?" 

"Brother,  I  have  only  a  slight  suspicion  that  possibly  Mrs. 
Olcott  might  come  to  live  with  us.  That  is  all." 

"Now,  Edith,  be  a  good  little  sister  and  tell  me  something 
more  about  those  slight  suspicions  you  have  stored  away  in 
that  pretty  little  head  of  yours.  I  think  you  have  a  secret, 
and  you  know  it's  wicked  to  keep  a  secret  from  a  brother." 

"We  are  at  the  gate  now,  and  all  I  can  say  is,  just  keep 
those  eyes  open  and  those  lips  closed,  and  you'll  be  as  wise 
as  your  little  sister." 

Passengers,  bundles  and  all  were  delivered  safely  at  the 
portals  of  the  beautiful  old  home,  where  a  royal  welcome 
was  extended  to  Mrs.  Olcott,  and  where  she  was  made  to  feel 
as  a  member  of  the  family. 

The  holiday  week  was  wholly  given  over  to  pleasures 
around  the  hearth-stone  of  the  old  home.  Business  at  the  of 
fice  was  tabooed  so  far  as  the  elder  Marchand  was  concerned. 
Walter  could  not  wholly  neglect  the  many  duties,  but  he  in 
sisted  on  Edith  spending  a  goodly  portion  of  her  time  with 
him  at  the  office,  or  down  town.  This,  of  course,  threw  Mrs. 
Olcott  and  the  father  together  more  than  otherwise  would 

67 


have  been  the  case.  The  theaters  and  operas  were  in  the 
heighth  of  their  season,  and  afforded  a  splendid  opportunity 
for  entertainment. 

The  vacation  was  altogether  too  short  for  Mr.  Marchand, 
as  well  as  for  the  visitors.  They  all  agreed  upon  that  point, 

If  there  had  been  any  doubt  in  Walter's  mind  as  to  the  pos 
sible  intentions  of  the  elder  Marchand,  they  were  reduced 
from  a  doubt  to  a  rather  well  defined  idea,  regardless  of 
the  absolute  silence  of  the  father.  Edith  and  Walter  both 
felt  that  the  father  would,  sooner  or  later,  take  them  into 
his  confidence  whenever  he  reached  a  favorable  conclusion  in 
the  premises.  They  were  really  anxious  for  the  consumma 
tion  of  the  supposed  project.  Walter's  good  opinion  of  Mrs. 
Olcott  rapidly  grew  into  a  warm  affection.  He  realized  that 
it  was  mutual.  The  brother  and  sister  now  freely  discussed 
the  affair  in  secret,  and  became  more  and  more  anxious 
about  it.  The  day  came  for  the  departure  of  Edith  and  her 
friend.  The  father  was  more  than  agreeable  and  willing  to 
escort  them  back  to  their  Northern  school.  Some  time  after 
his  return,  he  broke  the  silence  between  himself  and  his  son. 
He  began  by  drawing  opinions  from  the  son  as  to  the  qual 
ities  of  their  late  visitor,  which,  of  course,  were  all  favorable. 
Walter  knew  what  would  finally  come  out,  and  he  would 
wink  in  his  sleeve  and  play  the  innocent. 

"Of  course,  my  son,  I  have  about  concluded  that  it  will 
not  do  for  Mrs.  Olcott  and  Edith  to  be  separated.  I  see 
that  Edith  is  very  fond  of  her,  and  having  been  constant 
companions  for  several  years,  Edith  would  be  entirely  lost 
and  unhappy  in  our  big  home,  so  I  thought  if,  in  your  judg 
ment,  it  would  be  a  wise  plan  to  bring  Mrs.  Olcott  to  'The 
Cedars'  permanently,  I  would  see  if  it  could  be  accomplished." 

63 


"Now,  father,  have  not  you  and  the  lady  been  keeping  a 
great  big  secret  from  your  children  for  quite  a  long  time?" 

"No,  indeed,  my  son,  I  have  never  directly  asked  the  lady 
a  question  upon  the  subject.  Of  course  I  could  not,  con 
sistently  with  the  ideas  of  a  true  Southern  gentleman,  broach 
the  subject  to  her  while  a  guest  under  my  roof.  True,  I 
believe  the  lady  would  not  be  averse  to  the  position  of  the 
mistress  of  'The  Cedars,'  and  since  it  appears  agreeable  to 
my  children  I  will  write  Mrs.  Olcott  a  proposal  this  very 
day." 

The  fact  was,  that  the  proposal  had  already  been  penned, 
but  it  had  not  been  committed  to  the  care  of  the  post.  Hav 
ing  ascertained  that  he  had  the  hearty  approval  of  his  son 
in  the  premises,  and  knowing  that  Edith  would  be  filled  with 
delight,  -the  old  gentleman  carried  the  letter  to  the  post- 
office  in  person  and  tenderly  dropped  it  into  the  receptacle. 
It  would  appear  to  some  people  that  an  old  man  would  look 
upon  a  second  marriage  as  a  business  proposition,  but  not 
so  with  LeBerte  Marchand.  He  was  in  love,  deeply  in  love 
with  the  little  lady.  To  him,  she  was  the  dearest  creature  on 
the  earth,  his  children  not  excepted.  He  loved  with  a  kve 
that  would  have  made  a  pygmy  of  Othello's  love.  Of  course 
Marchand  did  not  roam  the  forest  and  cut  his  sweetheart/s 
name  upon  the  trees,  but  he  did  write  the  name  of  "Norma 
Olcott"  on  the  fly  leaves  of  his  books,  and  on  scraps  of  paper, 
and  the  like.  It  was  also  a  fact  that  the  business  at  the  of 
fice  attracted  him  less,  day  by  day,  all  of  which  Walter  ob 
served  with  a  knowing  smile,  and  wondered  how  an  old  man 
could  become  so  romantic.  He  was  glad,  however,  that  his 
father's  affections  were  bestowed  upon  the  queenly  Mrs.  Ol 
cott,  whom  Edith  and  himself  already  loved  as  a  mother. 

-     09 


NORKOMA 

The  family  circle  would  be  one  of  mutual  love  and  affection, 
a  thing  to  be  greatly  desired.  Walter  looked  forward  to  the 
time  when  he  hoped  to  be  honored  of  the  people  by  being 
elected  their  City  Attorney.  He  felt  an  inward  sense  of 
pride  at  the  thought  that  Edith  and  his  mother  might  share 
that  honor  with  him.  It  would  be  a  month  after  the  elec 
tion  when  Edith  would  return  from  college,  and  in  all  prob 
ability  Mrs.  Olcott  would  then  become  Mrs.  Marchand  and 
take  up  her  permanent  abode  at  "The  Cedars." 

When  Mrs.  Olcott  received  the  letter  of  proposal  from 
Mr.  Marchand  she  was  alone  in  her  room.  She  was  not 
greatly  surprised.  In  fact,  she  rather  expected  something 
of  the  kind.  Now,  it  was  a  reality,  and  just  how  to  frame 
a  reply,  she  was  in  great  doubt.  Was  this  not  a  gift  of  for 
tune,  after  all  the  years  of  privation,  toil  and  uncertainty? 
Ah,  that  word,  "uncertainty,"  caused  her  to  start. 

Again  her  mind  quickly  reverted  to  other  days,  and  a  shud 
der  shook  her  frame.  Again,  as  frequently  of  late,  a  doubt 
crossed  her  mind,  and  she  cried  from  the  depths  of  her  soul : 
"0  God,  what  shall  I  do?  Why  should  this  spectre  of  doubt 
and  uncertainty  follow  me  through  all  my  life?  More  than 
twenty-five  years  have  passed,  and  I  am  still  haunted  by  un 
certainty.  0  Lord,  how  long,  how  long — 

The  poor  woman  fell  into  a  fit  of  bitter  weeping  from 
which  she  had  not  recovered  when  Edith  entered  her  room. 
Edith  noticed  the  letter  which  had  fallen  upon  the  floor,  and 
as  quickly  did  she  discern  the  handwriting.  The  thought 
flashed  across  her  mind,  "Why  sorrow,  instead  of  joy?"  Her 
face  flushed  a  livid  hue  as  she  stood  a  moment  in  silence, 
glancing  first  at  the  letter,  then  at  her  friend. 


70 


THE  DILEMMA 


CHAPTEK  X. 
THE  DILEMMA. 

The  thought  that  possibly  Mrs.  Olcott  had  become  of 
fended  at  the  probable  proposal  of  marriage  by  her  father,, 
instantly  aroused  Edith's  native  pride,  and  a  feeling  of  re 
sentment  at  once  possessed  her. 

"I  beg  your  pajdon,  Mrs.  Olcott,  for  intruding.  I  will 
leave/'  said  Edith,  rather  coldly. 

"Oh,  no,  no,  child.  Please  stay",  for  I  need  your  help.  Oh, 
I  need  you  so  much.  You  will  be  a  comfort  to  me.  Come, 
dear  Edith,  sit  here  by  me,  and  let  me  tell  you  the  story  of 
of  my  life." 

Edith,  obedient  to  the  request,  nestled  down  upon  a  stool 
beside  the  elder  lady,  who,  gently  taking  Edith's  hands  in 
hers,  began  relating  the  story  of  her  life,  a  brief  summary 
of  which  the  reader  has  already  gleaned  from  previous  chap 
ters.  It  was  a  pathetic  story,  indeed,  leading  up  to  the  dis 
tress  and  perturbation  of  mind  in  which  the  little  music 
teacher  then  found  herself.  Mrs.  Olcott  spake  of  her  pleas 
ant  association  with  Edith  and  her  father  and  brother.  How 
she  had  learned  to  love  her  little  pupil  in  those  years  of 
constant  companionship,  and  how  she  dreaded  the  final  sep 
aration,  if  it  should  ever  come.  Then,  too,  of  the  happy  days 
that  she  enjoyed  while  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Marchand  and 

71 


NORKOMA 

his  son  Walter,  with  both  of  whom  she  was  dearly  in  love, 
and  for  both  of  whom  she  retained  the  highest  personal  re 
gard  and  esteem. 

"Oh,  Norma,  Norma,  my  sweet,  good  mother,"  cried  Edith, 
as  she  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck  -of  her  companion  and 
teacher,  their  unrestrained  tears  mingling  together. 

Having  calmed  themselves  through  their  flood  of  tears,  as 
is  often  the  wont  of  the  fair  and  gentle  sex,  and  as  is  often 
her  arms  of  offense  and  defense  in  battle,  the  two  friends 
settled  down  to  a  calmer  view  of  the  perplexing  and  intensely 
interesting  question.  Mrs.  Olcott  invited  Edith  to  read  the 
letter,  assuring  her  that  in  so  doing  she  did  not  intend  a 
breach  of  etiquette  nor  a  lack  of  due  respect  and  considera 
tion  for  the  feelings  of  the  writer  thereof.  The  letter  was, 
indeed,  just  what  Edith  had  suspected — a  proposal  of  mar 
riage  to  be  consummated  in  the  near  future,  if  agreeable  to 
the  recipient. 

"Suppose,"  said  Mrs.  Olcott,  after  Edith  read  the  letter, 
"that  after  all  these  years  it  should  be  that  my  former  hus 
band  is  not  dead,  and  that  unfortunately  he  appear  after  my 
marriage  with  your  father !  Oh,  horrors "  the  little  wo 
man  cried,  shuddering  as  she  uttered  those  words. 

"But  must  you  wear  your  whole  life  away  in  a  terrible 
nightmare  of  doubt  and  uncertainty  ?"  anxiously  inquired  the 
younger  person. 

"That  is  what  has  often  occurred  to  me  as  so  cruel  and 
unjust.  It  is  too  great  a  burden  for  me  to  bear.  I  have 
done  everything  I  could  do  to  discover  the  truth,  but  with 
out  avail.  I  have  waited  and  waited  until  now,  the  rich,  ripe 
harvest  of  my  weary  life  is  slowly  passing  by,  and  I  am  still 
a  wayside  wanderer,  unable  to  reap,  to  garner  or  to  bring  in 


THE  DILEMMA 

any  of  the  golden  sheaves.  Oh,  Edith,  my  child,  what  can  I 
do?  Trust  in  me,  little  one,  for  I  want  your  love  and  sym 
pathy." 

"I  do  trust  you,  and  I  love  you,  Oh,  ever  so  much,"  said 
Edith  in  a  joyful,  cheerful  mood,  that  had  its  immediate 
consoling  effect  upon  her  friend. 

The  matter  TV  as  discussed  pro  and  eon  in  all  its  phases  by 
the  two  friends  without  a  settled  conclusion  having  been 
reached.  True,  Mr.  Marchand  would  expect  a  prompt  reply, 
that  is,  within  a  reasonable  length  of  time.  He  would  cer 
tainly  look  upon  any  unwarranted  delay  with  the  feeling  that 
his  suit  was  not  a  welcome  one. 

Edith  did  not  care  to  hazard  the  prospects  by  any  undue 
delay,  and  suggested  that  all  these  matters  could  be  fully 
explained  after  the  couple  had  married,  settled  down  in 
their  happy,  comfortable  home,  "The  Cedars." 

Though  she  was  as  anxious  as  was  Edith,  Mrs.  Olcott 
looked  beyond  the  engagement,  beyond  the  marriage  cere* 
mony,  beyond  the  "honeymoon,"  and  saw  the  bare  possibili 
ties  of  casual  thrusts  of  "a  concealed  past,"  and  the  ugly 
inoods  of  "an  irritable  old  man."  She  could  not  forbear  th<? 
thoughts  of  such  possible  side  thrusts  and  side  cuts,  through 
life.  To  her,  such  would  be  unbearable  and  wholly  insup 
portable.  She  would,  therefore,  follow  the  only  course  which 
to  her  mind  was  thoroughly  righteous  and  becoming  to  a 
well-born  lady  of  the  "Old  South,"  and  a  course  which  she 
was  sure  would  be  appreciated  by  the  honorable  and  upright 
Mr.  Marchand.  That  course  was,  to  relate  to  Mr.  Marchand 
the  full  story  of  her  life,  her  doubts,  and  fears,  just  as  she 
had  to  his  daughter  Edith.  Then  if,  in  his  judgment,  there 
be  nothing  to  fear,  and  he  be  willing  to  take  her  as  his  wife, 

73 


NORKOMA 

no  blaine  could  thereafter  attach  to  her.  No  side  cuts  of  a 
"concealed  past"  could  then  haunt  her  as  a  horrid  nightmare 
throughout  her  days.  Besides,  she  knew  that  in  Edith  and 
Walter  she  had  good  lieutenants,  both  of  whom  would  help 
her  in  this  cruel  struggle  against  fate.  The  more  she  pon 
dered  upon  the  matter,  the  more  determined  she  became  to 
follow  this  course. 

While  at  first  Edith  did  not  fully  accord  with  the  plan 
to  be  adopted,  because  she  feared  the  possibility  of  its  fail 
ure,  her  objections  melted  away  before  the  righteous  argu 
ments  of  her  older  and  more  mature  friend,  and  in  the  end 
the  two  were  in  happy  accord.  Silently  and  secretly,  how 
ever,  Edith  resolved  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  legal  status 
of  a  case  like  that  of  Mrs.  Olcotf s.  She  felt  that  were  she 
similarly  situated,  she  would  ascertain  her  legal  rights  and 
would  act  accordingly,  regardless  of  all  other  considerations, 
though  she  did  not  intimate  the  same  to  her  friend.  She 
would  ascertain,  if  possible,  what  legal  barrier  there  was,  if 
any,  to  prevent  the  consummation  of  her  friend's  marriage. 
Consequently,  the  same  mail  that  carried  Mrs.  Olcott's  letter 
to  the  elder  Marchand  also  carried  a  letter  from  Edith  to 
her  brother  Walter.  Edith's  letter  contained  a  plain  and 
succinct  statement,  as  related  by  Mrs.  Olcott,  but  without 
disclosing  the  identity  of  the  real  parties  at  interest.  The 
letter  also  urged  prompt,  but  very  careful  consideration  of 
the  matter,  and  a  plain,  decisive  reply  at  the  earliest  pos 
sible  moment. 

"What  the  deuce  is  my  little  sister  up  to  now?"  thought 
Walter,  upon  reading  the  letter.  "Certainly  she  is  not  enter 
ing  the  study -of  law.  Oh,  well,  the  dear  little  girl  has  ap 
pealed  to  me,  and  her  appeal  shall  not  be  in  vain.  Generous 

74 


THE  DILEMMA 

hearted,  she  is  no  doubt  helping  some  poor  soul  to  find  the 
light  that  will  safely  lead  to  paths  of  happiness  and  peace. 
How  glorious  this  world  would  be  if  all  persons  would  seek 
to  bring  sunshine  and  gladness  to  others.  Well,  my  little 
sister  is  the  sweetest,  dearest,  best  girl  on  earth,  and  I  am 
the  proudest  brother,  I  reckon,  of  any  fellow  who  ever  had 
a  sister." 

Walter's  meditations  were  interrupted  at  this  juncture  by 
the  father,  who,  holding  a  bit  of  tinted,  perfumed  paper  in 
his  hand,  entered  the  office,  and  seating  himself  near  his 
son,  said: 

"My  son,  I  have  heretofore  confided  in  you  upon  the  mat 
ter  of  my  desire  to  again  enter  the  married  state.  In  that 
connection,  I  wish  to  further  confide  in  you,  and  to  avail 
myself  of  your  good  judgment.  I  have  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Olcott  in  response  to  my  proposal  of  marriage,  in  which  she 
relates  a  rather  strange  story,  but  the  main  facts  of  which 
I  had  partially  known  through  former  conversations  with 
her.  I  think  I  am  not  betraying  a  confidence,  nor  showing 
discourtesy  to  the  lady,  by  asking  you  to  read  the  letter, 
before  we  discuss  the  situation." 

As  Walter  followed  the  plainly  inscribed  statement  of  the 
life  story  of  the  writer  of  the  letter,  he  readily  comprehend 
ed  the  reason  for  his  sister's  solicitude.  It  was  now  as  clear 
as  day  to  him,  though  he  resolved  to  keep  the  matter  a  secret 
within  his  breast.  Having  read  the  letter,  he  returned  it 
to  his  father,  and  with  an  expression  of  countenance  be 
tokening  great  interest,  remarked: 

"Well,  and  what  now?" 

"And  what  now?  That  is  the  question,"  returned  the 
father. 

75 


"We'll  see  what  the  Statutes  have  to  say  on  the  sub 
ject,"  said  Walter,  as  he  turned  his  office  chair  and 
reached  for  the  book  of  State  laws.  Being  a  young  lawyer, 
Walter  made  it  a  practice  to  consult  the  State  laws  upon  every 
question  with  which  he  had  to  deal,  before  he  ventured  to 
reach  a  conclusion  within  his  own  mind. 

"No  use  to  look,  Walter,  there  are  no  statutory  laws  upon 
the  question/  interrupted  the  father. 

"Have  you  examined,  to  ascertain?" 

"No,  but  I  know  it  is  so." 

"Sometimes  we  are  mistaken,  you  know,  when  we  think 
we  are  most  certain." 

"Oh,  well,  a  young  man  won't  learn  by  being  told,  so  pro 
ceed  with  your  investigation,"  said  the  elder  man,  feeling 
somewhat  irritable.  After  a  careful  perusal  of  the  indices, 
Walter  replied: 

"No,  father,  I  do  not  find  statutory  law  covering  the  ques 
tion,  but  there  is  a  provision  that  where  the  statutory  law 
is  silent,  the  common  law  shall  be  applied.  Now  the  com 
mon  low  is,  that  when  a  person  has  not  been  heard  of  for 
seven  or  more  years,  he  is  presumed  to  be  dead." 

"Yes,  I  knew  that.  In  this  case,  the  first  husband  has 
been  presumed  to  be  dead  for  twenty-five  or  more  years." 

"And  properly  so,  for  he  was  last  seen  and  heard  of  in 
the  very  heat  of  the  war  between  the  States,  and  he  being 
one  of  the  participants  in  that  war  only  strengthens  the 
presumption." 

"You  do  not  quite  understand  me,  my  son.  I  know  that 
to  our  marriage  there  is  no  legal  obstacle.  The  legal  pre 
sumption  that  after  a  silence  of  seven  years  a  man  is  pre 
sumed  to  be  dead  had  its  inception  and  was  founded  in  well 

76 


THE  DILEMMA 

grounded  reasons,  based  upon  the  good  of  society  in  times 
long  past,  when  the  brawn  and  muscle  of  old  England  were 
going  to  populate  new  countries  and  new  worlds.  Some  of 
her  sons  were  afterwards  heard  from  and  others  not.  The 
result  was,  there  were  many  charming  women  left  without 
husband  and  many  fair  children  without  father.  Many  of 
these  were  a  care  upon  the  people,  upon  society,  and  many 
of  them  could  have  found  the  protecting  hand  of  husband 
and  father  but  for  the  law  against  double  marriage.  Then 
it  was  that  the  laws  of  England  were  enacted  to  the  effect 
that  when  a  person  has  not  been  heard  of  for  a  period  of 
seven  years,  he  is  presumed  to  be  dead.  But  that  did  not 
vitiate  the  former  marriage.  Two  things  only  legally  vi 
tiate  a  marriage,  to- wit:  legal  divorce,  and  death." 

"Suppose,  in  a  case  of  this  kind,  after  twenty-five  or  thirty 
years'  absence,  the  first  husband  reappears  upon  the  scene." 

"Well,  suppose.  What  good  does  it  do  te  suppose?  The 
jig  would  be  up  then,  perhaps." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is  a  case  of  'perhaps'  more  than  anything 
else.  There's  no  possibility  of  the  man  reappearing  in  this 
case.  Besides,  if  he  did,  and  he  wanted  to  find  his  wife,  he 
would  go  to  her  old  home  in  Tennessee.  He  could  never 
trace  her,  for  all  her  people  are  dead  or  gone  away.  He 
could  never  find  her  where  she  now  is,  and  much  less  would 
be  his  chances  to  find  her,  once  she  is  under  your  roof  as 
your  wife.  No,  father,  it  is  absolutely  out  of  the  question. 
You  are  trying  to  cross  a  bridge  which  you  will  never  reach." 

"I  think  you  are  right,  my  boy.  You  talk  like  a  veteran 
in  the  cause.  You  are  really  inspiring.  If,  in  your  judg 
ment,  I  would  be  safe  in  consummating  this  union,  I  shall 
be  happy  to  follow  your  advice.  What  say  you?" 

77 


"In  my  judgment  the  step  you  are  about  to  take  is  per 
fectly  safe.  I  will  not  advise  you  to  take  it,  nor  would  I 
advise  any  person  to  place  a  bet  on  a  certain  horse  in  a  race, 
or  marry  a  certain  person.  It  looks  too  much  like  intermed 
dling.  However,  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  have  set  your 
affections  upon  such  a  good,  loveable  character  as  I  know 
Mrs.  Olcott  must  be,  and  as  Edith  declares  her  to  be." 

The  son  well  knew  that  the  father  had  decidedly  made 
up  his  mind  to  consummate  the  marriage,  before  he  sought 
consolation  rather  than  advice  from  his  son.  Having  been 
enamored  by  so  lovely  a  character  as  Mrs.  Olcott,  it  was  to 
be  expected  that  nothing  should  stand  in  the  way  to  bar  the 
completion  of  the  elder  gentleman's  plans.  Walter  knew 
that.  That  is,  he  knew  it  as  reasonably  as  one  can  judge  of 
coming  events  that  appear  within  the  horoscope  of  what  may 
be  termed  certainty.  It  pleased  Walter,  however,  to  study 
the  apparent  cunning  of  the  father,  who  affected  a  great 
burden  of  doubt  as  to  what  course  he  should  follow  in  the 
matter.  Walter  knew  just  how  to  prolong  the  anxious  "coun 
sel"  whi^h  the  father  had  sought,  The  fear  that  Edith  would 
advise  against  the  marriage  under  the  circumstances  appar 
ently  filled  the  father's  mind,  with  additional  doubt.  So 
strenuously  did  the  elderly  gentleman  dwell  upon  this  phase 
of  the  question,  that  Walter  decided  that  the  secret  of  the 
sister's  letter  must  be  divulged.  He  deemed  it  best,  now  that 
there  was  no  longer  any  cause  for  secrecy.  He  therefore 
handed  the  letter  to  the  father  for  his  perusal. 

"Why,  bless  my  life,  the  girl  has  cited  this  very  case.  To 
be  sure,  Mrs.  Olcott  states  in  her  letter  that  she  acquainted 
Edith  with  all  the  facts.  Certainly  my  daughter  would  not 

78 


hope  to  find  a  legal  barrier  to  my  marriage  with  Mrs.  Olcott. 
Do  you  think  so?" 

Walter  purposely  hesitated,  well  knowing  that  the  father 
\vould  fret,  without  suffering  any  pain,  which  was  really 
amusing  to  witness. 

"I  say,  my  boy,  do  you  think  Edith  could  hope  to  bar  my 
progress  in  this  matter?" 

"Oh,  no,  certainly  not.  I  take  it  that  Edith  is  sincerely 
anxious  to  know  that  there  is  no  legal  obstruction  in  the  way 
to  your  marriage  and  happiness.  She  evidently  had  hopes 
for  an  answer  before  Mrs.  Olcott  should  reply  to  your  letter 
of  proposal.  It  is  plain  to  me  that  Edith  is  as  anxious  for 
the  marriage  to  be  consummated  as  you  evidently  are." 

"Ah,  my  boy,  it  is  treading  on  dangerous  ground.  Mar 
riage  is  not  what  it  used  to  be — I  can  see  that.  Domestic 
felicity  is  the  exception  these  days,  rather  than  the  rule. 
Why,  my  son,  in  my  early  practice  of  the  law,  divorces  were 
as  scarce  as  hen's  teeth.  Divorces  were  looked  upon  with 
disfavor,  and  we  lawyers  sometimes  deliberated  before  tak 
ing  charge  of  a  divorce  case.  It  is  not  so  of  late  years.  You 
have  observed  how  these  divorce  cases  increase.  As  you  have 
handled  the  most  of  them  coming  into  our  office  of  late, 
you  must  have  ascertained  the  prevailing  cause  of  this  grow 
ing  and  lamentable  evil." 

"Yes,  I  have,  father,  but  I  can  not  see  how  you  connect 
this  growing  evil,  for  it  is  an  evil,  with  your  prospective 
marriage.  Certainly  you  do  not  anticipate  a  future  dovorce." 

"No,  of  course  not.  But  one  should  look  well  before  he 
leaps  into  the  matrimonial  sea.  Some  people  take  the  leap 
just  as  a  person  leaps  into  the  Gulf  for  a  surf  bath.  For 
tunately  for  some  of  them,  they  find  domestic  bliss,  while  the 

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great  majority  of  that  class  find  a  living  hell.  That  is  what 
it  would  be  for  a  person  of  fine  sentiment  or  nobility  of  char 
acter.  Eesult,  divorce." 

"Keally,  father,  I've  not  given  any  study  to  the  question. 
I've  often  heard  it  said  that  marriage  is  a  lottery,  but  I  care 
little  about  that  question  so  far  as  my  personal  interests  are 
concerned." 

"Tut,  tut,  my  boy.  You  will  little  know  what  life  is  un 
til  you  have  a  home,  with  loving  companion  and  prattling 
babes.  You  will  change  your  notion  some  of  these  days  on 
that  score." 

"No,  father,  not  while  sister  Edith  lives,  for  my  love  for 
her  is  wholly  sufficient,  if  non-effective  and  beyond  marital 
avail." 


80 


"A  DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT" 


CHAPTEK  XL 
"A  DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT." 

Walter  Marchand  survived  his  sudden  bound  into  notoriety 
and  popular  favor  gracefully,  and  with  no  undue  degree  of 
vanity  or  self  importance,  which,  of  course,  made  him  all 
the  more  popular  among  those  with  whom  he  came  in  daily 
contact.  He  remained  the  earnest  student  of  his  college  days, 
and  became  a  zealous  worker  upon  all  matters  entrusted  to 
his  care. '  His  success  in  his  profession  was  not  only  fore 
casted  by  his  friends,  but  was  realized  as  a  fact  from  the 
very  beginning  of  his  career  as  a  lawyer.  It  soon  became 
commonly  known  that  the  young  lawyer  would  take  no  case 
except  it  be  meritorious,  in  his  judgment,  and  that  he  would 
then  throw  his  very  soul  into  it  to  win.  The  courts  readily 
came  to  respect  his  opinions  on  law  questions,  and  the  juries 
soon  began  to  believe  in  the  justness  of  his  side  of  a  case.  It 
was  no  trouble,  apparently,  for  young  Marchand  to  win  his 
cases.  It  was  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  hear  it  remarked 
upon  the  streets,  that  "If  young  Marchand  is  in  the  case,  he 
is  sure  to  win  it." 

When  the  elder  Marchand  returned  from  a  visit,  though 
he  had  been  away  but  a  short  time,  he  was  pleased  to  note 
his  son's  prosperity,  and  rejoiced  in  his  success.  His  former 
day  dreams  and  visions  of  fancy,  in  this  regard,  were  being 

31 


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realized  beyond  his  expectations.  He  was  justly  proud  of  this 
noble  son.  The  son  had  taken  up  the  professional  work  of 
the  office  and  court  with  an  aptness  that  was  surprising 
even  to  the  father,  who  was  now  growing  rather  old,  and 
had  long  since  lost  the  snap,  vim  and  vigor  of  his  earlier 
days.  "Walter  came  into  the  practice  just  at  a  time  to  save 
his  father's  business  from  gradual  decay.  In  fact,  some  of 
the  old  time  clients  who  had  of  late  years  gradually  changed 
their  business  into  other  hands,  returned  to  the  Marchands. 

"That  is  what  new  blood  and  youth  does,  my  boy,"  re 
marked  the  father  one  day  when  one  of  those  old  time  clients 
returned  with  some  extraoardinarily  good  business,  and  in 
sisted  on  laying  down  a.  large  check  as  a  retainer  fee.  "I  have 
realized  for  some  time  that  I  needed  help  in  this  office,  and 
I  am  more  than  proud  that  my  own  son  comes  to  my  aid 
in  the  very  niche  of  time." 

"I  have  not  noticed  your  powers  decaying  in  any  degree; 
and  you  are  certainly  a  better  lawyer  today  than  you  were 
ten  or  twenty  years  ago,"  answered  the  son. 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,  I  am  more  capable  of  handling  a  case  in 
the  court  when  I  have  the  facts  and  witnesses  at  my  disposal, 
but  I  have  not  the  push,  energy  and  tenacity  of  former  years. 
Our  clients  of  today  seem  to  want  their  legal  affairs  at 
tended  to  promptly,  without  any  delay  whatever.  In  former 
years,  it  was  not  so." 

"Well,  I  think  it  is  better  so.  If  one  keeps  his  business 
matters  right  up  to  date,  he  knows  just  how  he  stands.  If 
a  lawyer  delays  attention  to  his  business,  matters  accumu 
late  and  he  loses  interest  in  much  of  the  business,  therefore 
neglects  it,  to  the  detriment  of  his  client." 

"No  doubt  you  are  right,  my  son,  and  I  am  glad  to  have 

82 


"A  DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT" 

you  in  charge  of  our  business.  Times  have  greatly  changed 
during  my  life.  Of  course,  the  results  of  the  war  forced  an 
altogether  new  system  of  business  upon  us.  It  brought  in 
its  train  the  great  problem  of  caring  for  the  negro,  a  prob 
lem  that  it  may  take  years  to  solve. 

"I  am  of  the  opinion  that  a  serious  mistake  was  made  in 
giving  to  the  negro  the  right  of  suffrage.  Their  emancipa 
tion  was,  no  doubt,  a  remedy  which  time  was  bound  to  bring 
about.  I  doubt  not  that  in  the  future  the  question  of  negro 
suffrage  will  give  rise  to  the  most  serious  and  perplexing  po 
litical  problems  with  which  our  country  shall  have  to  deal." 

The  elder  Marchand  recounted  the  many  phases  of  political 
history  through  which  he  had  passed  during  the  twenty  or 
more  years  immediately  following  the  close  of  the  civil  war, 
all  of  which  were  exceedingly  interesting  to  the  younger  man. 
It  was  evident  that  Walter  was  now  becoming  more  or  less 
imbued  with  the  political  spirit,  and  that  he  would,  sooner 
or  later,  take  a  hand  in  the  political  affairs  of  the  commun 
ity.  True,  he  had  already  been  solicited  to  become  a  candi 
date  for  the  office  of  City  Attorney,  first  by  the  one  faction 
and  then  by  the  other.  The  two  factions  in  the  city  had 
waged  bitter  war  against  each  other  for  years,  although  they 
both  were  members  of  the  same  political  party  and  faith,  in 
national  politics.  Locally,  their  differences  were  the  re 
sult  of  personal  ambitions,  and  local  newspaper  jealousies. 
Their  campaigns  usually  consisted  in  "mud  throwing," 
charges  and  counter  charges  of  perfidy  and  unfitness  for 
public  confidence  and  public  trust.  Neither  of  the  two  daily 
papers  could  see  any  good  in  any  member  of  the  opposing 
faction. 

Good  men  who  had  never  taken  any  interest  in  the  local 

88 


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political  turmoil,  men  whose  names  were  synonyms  of  honor, 
fairness  and  integrity,  once  they  entered  the  political  arena 
and  allied  themselves  with  one  faction  or  the  other,  immedi 
ately  became  a  target  for  the  opposing  faction.  Their  names 
were  bandied  about,  coupled  with  reflections  and  insinua 
tions  not  at  all  comporting  with  their  former  reputations  of 
honor  and  high  standing.  'Many  were  the  cases  of  mortal 
combat  and  homicide  resulting  therefrom,  but  little  did  such 
results  lessen  the  relentless  warfare. 

Walter  Marchand  became  well  acquainted  with  the  doings 
in  local  politics,  and  resolved  to  take  sides  with  neither  fac 
tion.  He,  with  others,  saw  that  the  people,  the  plain  people 
of  the  city,  had  long  been  the  dupes  of  both  factions  and  of 
the  two  daily  newspapers.  That,  between  the  two  factions, 
the  plain  people  had  been  tossed  about,  to  and  fro,  as  upon 
the  waves  of  a  treacherous  sea.  They  had  been  blinded,  hood 
winked,  cajoled  and  deceived,  while  the  best  interests  of  their 
city  had  suffered  untold  losses.  For  him  to  enter  into  part 
nership  with  either  faction  was  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  crim 
ination  and  scandal  from  the  other  side.  To  that  he  would 
not  submit.  To  refuse  alliance  with  both  factions  might 
bring  down  upon  his  head  the  fire  of  both  factions.  One  thing 
he  had  resolved  upon,  and  that  was,  that  he  would  make 
the  race  for  the  office  of  City  Attorney.  He  made  known 
his  intentions  to  the  elder  Marchand,  and  the  matter  was  gone 
over  thoroughly  between  them.  The  father  deplored  the  idea 
at  the  start,  but  reluctantly  consented  in  the  end.  A  daily 
paper  of  small  porportions  and  of  smaller  political  influence 
was  the  only  organ  to  be  looked  to  for  a  medium  through 
which  he  might  reach  the  people — the  other  two  daily  news 
papers  were  the  purchased  organs  of  the  respective  factions. 

81 


Not  many  days  elapsed  until  a  secret  conference  was  held 
in  the  Marchand  offices.  The  members  of  that  conference 
were  some  of  the  most  substantial  business  men  of  the  city, 
who  not  only  had  been  long-time  friends  of  the  Marchands, 
but  who,  also,  had  grown  weary  of  the  local  political  turmoil. 
Kealizing  that  the  best  interests  of  the  city  were  subverted 
to  the  political  whims  of  the  factions  at  war,  they  decided 
that  a  change  must  be  brought  about.  They  had  supported 
the  two  daily  papers  more  through  fear  than  from  desire, 
and  longed  for  an  opportunity  to  cut  loose  from  both.  The 
little  weakling,  "The  Daily  Telegram,"  as  it  was  called, 
had  never  had  the  support  of  the  business  element  of  the 
city.  In  fact,  its  subscription  list  was  greater  than  either  of 
the  other  organs,  though  that  fact  had  not  been  known;  but 
its  advertising  patronage  was  limited. 

Walter  Marchand,  a  staunch,  honest,  honorable  young  at 
torney,  who  could  not  be  induced  to  enter  into  partnership 
with  either  political  faction,  was  now  to  come  before  the 
people  for  the  office  of  City  Attorney,  and  it  became  neces 
sary  that  the  Telegram  should  be  revived  and  supported  by 
those  who  desired  cleaner  local  government.  One  conference 
led  to  another,  always  secret,  and  day  after  day  there  ap 
peared  evidences  of  renewed  life,  vigor  and  prosperity  in 
"The  Daily  Telegram."  Walter  had  written  to  a  friend  who 
had  entered  the  newspaper  world,  and  was  making  as  great 
success  in  his  chosen  field  of  labor  as  was  Walter  in  his. 
Joe  Butler  was  the  former  college  "chum"  of  Walter  Mar 
chand,  and  during  the  last  two  years  he  had  exhibited  his 
special  abilities  upon  the  Mobile  Eegister.  Through  Walter's 
influence,  Joe  Butler  was  now  in  full  charge  of  The  Daily 
Telegram.  The  effect  of  his  management  was  magical.  The 

So 


NORKOMA 

size  of  the  paper  was  soon  increased  so  as  to  accommodate 
the  rapidly  growing  advertising  patronage. 

The  Daily  Telegram  announced  its  independence  in  local 
politics,  and  for  a  cleaner  local  government,  but  took  sides 
with  neither  local  faction.  Space  in  the  paper  could  not  be 
purchased  by  either  faction  at  any  price,  and  the  statement 
to  that  effect  was  printed  in  large,  bold  headlines.  The  ma 
chines  of  both  factions  read  the  notice  with  fear  and  trepi 
dation.  The  general  expression  among  the  people — the  com 
mon  people — was :  "A  Daniel  has  come  to  judgment." 

The  new  paper  was  hailed  with  delight  by  the  common 
people,  who  had  become  disgusted  with  the  vituperation  of 
the  two  older  dailies.  The  people  throughout  the  whole 
State  became  interested,  for  they,  too,  had  deplored  the  rot 
ten  political  condition  into  which  the  "Queen  City  of  the 
South"  had  grown.  The  State  press  predicted  a  brighter 
future  for  the  city  if  it  could  only  rid  itself  of  the  political 
factions,  which  had  marred  its  fair  name. 

A  new  and  independent  party  was  predicted  for  the  city. 
The  young  paper 'took  on  the  form  of  a  prospective  political 
giant,  though  it  had  so  far  not  named  a  candidate  for  any 
office,  nor  had  it  even  indicated  that  such  was  its  intention. 
The  secret  caucuses  were  not  abandoned  by  any  means,  but 
instead  grew  in  point  of  membership  and  importance.  The 
city  was  in  a  state  of  suspense.  The  city  election  was  but  a 
month  ahead,  and  if  anything  was  to  be  done,  the  time  had 
come.  So  the  caucus  agreed.  The  opera  house  was  secured 
for  a  stated  time  for  a  public  meeting  of  the  citizens.  The 
galleries  were  reserved  for  the  negroes,  alone.  Then  came 
the  announcement  in  The  Daily  Telegram.  It  came  like  a 
peal  of  thunder  from  a  clear  sky  to  the  ringleaders  of  both 

80 


factions.  It  invited  the  good  people  of  the  city.,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  to  attend  the  meeting  at  the  opera  house  on  the 
evening  stated.  The  object  of  the  meeting  was  stated  to  be 
for  the  betterment  of  local  government  and  for  purer  local  pol 
itics.  It  recited  the  fact  that  the  condition  of  the  city  was 
a  deplorable  one^  and  that  each  of  the  political  factions 
charged  the  other  with  the  responsibility.  Perhaps  both  fac 
tions  were  to  blame.  jSTo  charges  were  made  against  either, 
but  the  people  were  left  to  judge  for  themselves.  Something^ 
would  be  done  at  the  convention  of  citizens,  no  doubt,  to  re 
lieve  the  city  from  its  condition.  If  not,  shame  should  ever 
be  the  people's  lot. 

The  day  came,  and  with  it  the  people  turned  out  en  masse. 
Hundreds  were  unable  to  gain  admission  and  were  turned 
away.  The  opera  house  was  packed  with  people  from  dome 
to  pit.  Upon  the  stage,  when  the  curtain  rose,  were  at  once 
recognized  the  leading  business  and  professional  men  of  the 
city  who  had  never  been  known  to  take  an  active  part  in  local 
politics.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  deathly  silence  through 
out  the  great  house.  Then  of  a  sudden,  as  if  by  one  great 
impulsive  wave,  the  clapping  of  hands  and  applause  became 
almost  deafening.  The  handwriting  was  upon  the  wall. 
The  people  saw  it.  Joe  Butler  saw  it.  Walter  Marchand  and 
all  his  friends  saw  it.  And  the  political  allies  of  the  two 
factions  saw  it.  They  required  no  particularizing  to  under 
stand  it.  Some  of  them  quickly  edged  out  of  the  house  and 
hastened  to  their  political  bosses  to  tell  the  news.  Others 
concluded  to  at  once  "get  from  under"  and  join  in  the  war 
cry  of  "purer  politics  and  better  local  government."  They 
then  and  there  forsook  their  old  allies  before  a  single  speech 
was  made,  and  before  they  were  even  informed  of  a  certainty 

87 


NORKOMA 

of  the  object  of  the  convention.  It  appeared  useless  for  any 
one  to  state  the  object.  N"o  one  asked  of  his  neighbor  the  na 
ture  or  object  of  the  meeting.  Without  being  told,  the 
least  astute  seemed  intuitively  to  know.  The  wave  of 
applause  was  hard  to  .check.  The  editor  and  manager 
of  The  Daily  Telegram  stepped  to  the  front  of  the  stage. 
The  cheering  and  applause  increased.  The  brass  band  struck 
up  "Dixie."  The  audience  ran  wild.  Hats,  coats,  women's 
shawls  and  other  loose  articles  filled  the  air.  Order  and 
quiet  could  not  be  restored,  for  the  people  began  to  realize 
that  they  were  about  to  be  led  out  of  the  wilderness,  and  that 
the  promised  land  was  in  sight.  An  accident  restored  order. 
In  the  very  height  of  the  uproar  and  applause,  a  piece  of 
scenery  dropped  from  above  the  stage  and  remained  suspend 
ed  in  full  view  of  the  audience.  As  sudden  as  the  fall  of 
the  scene,  was  the  restoration  of  order  and  perfect  silence  in 
the  big  house.  The  scene  was  a  single  setting  and  center 
piece,  showing  a  young  woman  clinging  to  the  cross,  under 
neath  of  which  was  painted  the  familiar  words :  "Simply 
to  the  Cross  I  Cling." 

In  the  speeches  that  followed,  reference  was  made  to  the 
accident  or  incident  as  a  good  omen,  and  a  signal  of  the 
success  of  the  people's  new  undertaking.  Joe  Butler  was 
the  principal  speaker.  He  referred  to  the  local  political  do 
ings  of  the  past,  and  the  present  deplorable  condition  of  the 
city.  He  told  of  the  secret  caucuses  of  the  better  element 
of  the  business  men,  and  the  object  of  the  meeting.  He  de 
clared  that  if  the  people,  at  that  meeting,  would  resolve  to 
elect  a  bold,  honest,  fearless  man  for  City  Attorney,  it  would 
prove  the  rising  star  of  their  hope  and  the  city's  prosperity. 
ISTo  sooner  had  he  proposed  the  plan,  than  the  audience,  as 


"A  DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT" 

with  one  accord,  applauded  their  hearty  approval.  A  wave  of 
silence  followed,  when  a  man  far  back  in  the  audience  shout 
ed  the  name  of  Walter  Marchand.  Five  thousand  voices 
cried  back  the  answer,  "Walter  Marchand." 

The  young  man  was  escorted  to  the  front  of  the  stage 
amidst  the  greatest  uproar  of  applause  he  had  ever  witnessed. 
He  raised  his  hand  for  silence,  and  it  came  as  suddenly  a? 
when  the  scenery  had  dropped  a  moment  before.  It  showed 
the  reverence  and  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  by  that  vast 
concourse  of  citizens.  He  was  expected  to  make  a  speech. 
He  knew  that.  He  realized  with  grateful  heart  the  honor 
the  people  were  conferring  upon  him  in  that  deep  hush  that 
fell  over  them,  at  the  raising  of  his  hand.  He  was  embar 
rassed — what  young  man  would  not  have  been.  He  fully 
realized  the  responsibility  of  the  step  he  was  about  to  take. 
He  was  bold  and  fearless  in  every  duty.  He  must  not  now 
shrink  or  falter  at  the  very  threshold  of  this  new  duty.  The 
friends  of  his  father  and  of  himself  expected  great  things, 
but  the  people  expected  greater  things  of  him.  He  paused 
a  moment,  but  in  that  moment  he  lived  a  century.  Hi? 
native  courage  siezed  him,  and  he  said: 

"I  am  truly  grateful,  grateful  beyond  my  power  of  ex 
pression,  for  the  honor  you  confer  upon  me,  one  of  the  hum 
blest  citizens  among  you.  I  am  not  a  politician,  and  am 
not  acquainted  with  the  fine  arts  or  the  science  of  politics, 
if  such  there  be.  My  highest  aim  and  ambition  is  to  lead  an 
honorable  life  so  as  to  merit  the  good  will  and  respect  of 
my  fellow  townsmen.  Should  I  ever  be  selected  to  fill  a  posi 
tion  of  public  trust,  I  shall  perform  my  duties  without  favor 
to  friends  or  fear  of  foes.  I  have  been  solicited  by  the  man 
agers  of  both  political  factions  to  submit  my  name  for  the 
office  of  City  Attorney,  but  I  have  declined  both. 


NORKOMA 

"I  do  not  object  to  serving  the  people  in  that  capacity,  but 
if  I  serve  at  all,  it  must  be  a  service  to  the  whole  people,  and 
not  to  a  faction.  I  may  say  that  at  the  request  of  many  of 
the  best  citizens,  some  of  whom  surround  me  here,  I  have 
consented  to  ask  the  people  of  the  city  to  support  me  for  thirf 
office.  I  consented  upon  the  condition  that  the  people  would 
agree  to  support  me  regardless  of  their  former  political  af 
filiations.  I  now  ask  you,  may  I  expect  your  solid  sup 
port?" 

An  affirmative  response  came  from  all  parts  of  the  house. 
"I  make  you  one  pledge,  to  do  my  whole  duty,  without 
fear  or  favor,  and  no  other  pledge  or  promise  shall  be  made. 
That  is  sufficient.  Thanking  you  for  this  great  test  of  loy 
alty  to  honest  government  and  feeling  grateful  for  your 
kind  promises  of  support,  I  leave  the  future  of  the  campaign 
with  you  and  all  other  good  citizens  of  our  beloved  city." 

Walter  Marchand  closed  his  short  address  amidst  the  great 
est  ovation  ever  before  witnessed  in  the  Crescent  City.  He 
was  hurried  out  by  the  stage  exit  and  to  bis  office  so  as  to 
avoid  the  crush  that  waited  to  greet  him.  The  excitement 
was  intense.  Upon  the  streets  the  cry  was  heard  upon  every 
corner:  "A  Daniel  has  come  to  judgment."  It  became  the 
war-cry  of  the  campaign.  The  Daily  Telegram  made  one 
great  headline  across  the  title  page,  thus :  "A  Daniel  Has 
Come  to  Judgment,"  following  with  a  full  account  of  the 
meeting,  and  giving  the  names  of  the  prominent  business  and 
professional  men  who  held  seats  of  honor  upon  the  stage, 
and  who,  it  was  understood,  were  backing  the  candidacy  of 
young  Marchand  with  their  moral  and  financial  support. 
A  fine,  large  portrait  of  the  candidate  adorned  the  first 
page  of  The  Telegram.  The  article  recited  the  many  inci- 

90 


"A  DANIEL  COME  TO  JUDGMENT" 

dents  of  his  courage,  honor,  honesty  and  integrity,  and  proph 
esied  his  election  by  the  people  beyond  question.  The  weak- 
kneed  of  both  old  factions  began  to  climb  into  the  Marchand,, 
or  the  people's  band  wagon.  They  left  the  old  factions  as 
rats  deserting  a  sinking  ship.  Citizens  who  had  previously 
paid  little  heed  to  the  local  conditions  now  awakened  from 
their  apparent  sleep  and  took  up  the  cry  of :  "Marchand  and 
honest  government.'' 

The  two  old  daily  papers  now  had  something  to  do  rather 
than  that  of  besmirching  the  opposing  faction.  They  saw 
great  danger  in  the  ominous  looking  cloud  arising  in  the 
horizon.  At  first  they  each  jeered  at  the  puny  stripling,  as 
they  termed  the  young  giant. 

Next  they  scoffed  and  tried  to  belittle  his  infantile  attempt 
at  reform,  but  the  dark  cloud  rose  higher  and  higher  in  the 
skies.  The  more  astute  ones  sniffed  the  breeze  of  battle 
ahead..  The  two  old  organs  now  began  a  joint  attack  upon 
the  young  giant,  casting  slurs  and  insinuations.  One  by 
one  the  large  advertising  patrons  notified  the  managers  to 
cut  out  their  advertisements.  This  opened  their  eyes.  I't 
required  investigation.  The  advertising  manager  appeared 
at  the  office  of  Jones,  Brown  &  Co.,  a  large  advertiser,  to  in 
quire  as  to  the  suspension  of  their  patronage.  The  anxiously 
sought  information  was  readily  acquired  in  a  quiet  but  posi 
tive  manner,  as  follows : 

"We  cannot  indorse  the  course  The  Daily  Trumpet  has 
taken  against  Marchand,  the  people's  candidate  for  City  At 
torney.  He  has  not  molested  nor  even  referred  to  either  of 
his  opponents,  nor  to  the  respective  daily  papers  which  sup 
port  them.  Not  until  the  Daily  Trumpet  changes  its  tactics 
shall  we  again  lend  it  our  patronage." 

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NORKOMA 

The  information,  given  to  the  managing  editor,  took  his 
breath  for  a  moment.  He  remonstrated,  and  criticised  Jones, 
Brown  &  Co.  with  a  whole  column.  The  next  morning 
Smith,  Lang,  Burrell  &  Co.,  together  with  several"  smaller 
patrons,  notified  the  much  grieved  daily  of  their  withdrawal 
from  the  advertising  columns. 

The  election  was  but  three  weeks  ahead,  and  the  dark 
cloud  had  mounted  higher  and  higher  until  it  hung  almost 
over  the  city.  It  looked  portentous,  and  the  occasional  gusts 
of  wind  that  came  from  it  appeared  as  the  forerunners  of  a 
genuine  cyclone.  The  wise  prophets  of  both  factions  now 
got  their  heads  together  and  planned  as  against  a  common 
foe.  They  argued  that  their  divided  forces  could  not  hope 
longer  against  fate.  The  candidate  of  the  McBride  faction 
withdrew  from  the  race  for  City  Attorney  and  bespoke  kind 
words  for  his  opponent  of  the  Wilkins  faction.  What  was 
intended  as  a  strong  and  strategical  move,  proved  a  most  dis 
astrous  farce.  The  storm  cloud  grew  darker  and  more  por 
tentous,  and  in  flaming  outline  against  the  black  embank 
ment  appeared  the  livid  likeness  of  Walter  Marchand.  It 
drove  consternation  into  the  ranks  of  the  McBride  faction 
and  filled  the  Wilkins  ranks  with  fear  and  trembling.  The 
old  time  herders  could  no  longer  handle  the  flocks.  The 
shepherd's  voice  no  longer  called  the  lambs  into  the  fold. 
The  flocks  scattered  upon  the  hillsides  and  strayed  into  the 
byways,  highways  and  hedges.  ISTo  longer  was  the  shepherd's 
crook  a  sign  of  peace  and  fair  weather  amidst  the  grazing 
herds.  The  dark  cloud  in  the  sky  spoke  in  louder  tones  than 
the  pleading  or  commanding  voice  of  the  shepherds,  and  the 
election  was  but  two  weeks  off. 

92 


CHAPTER  XII. 
HONEST  GOVERNMENT. 

The  McBride  and  the  Wilkins  factions,  bitter  as  they  were 
against  each  other,  had  arranged  a  truce  between  themselves 
so  far  as  the  office  of  City  Attorney  was  concerned. 

Young  Marchand  would  be  a  thorn  in  the  side  of  which 
ever  faction  proved  successful  at  the  election.  They  each 
knew  that.  They  also  knew  that  the  political  graves  of  past 
administrations  were  not  too  deep  nor  too  sacred  to  deter  the 
energetic  young  man  from  digging  down  to  corpses,  and 
holding  inquests  and  post  mortems.  Political  post  mor- 
tems  was  one  of  the  subjects  that  was  most  abhorrent 
to  the  leaders  of  both  the  McBride  and  Wilkins  fac 
tions.  That  was  one  subject  upon  which  the  knowing  ones 
of  both  factions  could  admirably  agree.  The  common  people, 
or  "the  herd,"  were  expected  to  plant  beautiful  white  flowers 
upon  the  graves  of  past  administrations.  The  leaders,  the 
bosses,  would  sing  dirges,  and  pronounce  eulogies. 

But  a  change  was  rapidly  coming  over  the  common  herd. 
The  leaders  of  both  factions  observed  the  rapid  change,  and 
they  marveled  as  they  beheld.  Many  of  the  strong  supporters 
and  blind  followers  of  both  factions  now  gave  signs  of  weak 
ness,  while  some  of  them  frankly  and  openly  declared  their 
preference  for  the  honest  young  attorney  and  honest  govern- 

93 


NORKOMA 

ment.  They,  many  of  them,  could  not  be  won  back;  they 
were  irretrievably  lost  to  both  the  McBride  and  the  Wilkins 
factions.  Pleading  could  not  win  them  back.  Threats  could 
not  scare  them ;  cajolery  could  not  move  them ;  nor  could 
promises  of  "good  jobs"  buy  them. 

The  Marchand  forces  were  daily  increasing  as  certainly  as 
were  the  ranks  of  the  factions  decreasing.  The  fact  was 
plain  to  everybody,  while  the  beating  of  the  bushes  and  the 
noise  of  the  ward  heelers  only  served  to  impress  the  truth 
of  that  fact  upon  the  minds  of  the  lame  and  halting.  The 
Daily  Telegram  was  growing  stronger  and  more  powerful 
every  day.  The  extraordinary  advertising  patronage  now  ac 
corded  it  afforded  a  splendid  revenue,  which,  in  part,  was 
used  to  distribute  several  thousand  extra  copies  among  the  cit 
izen  voters,  gratis.  The  citizen  voters  read  the  paper  with  eag 
erness,  as  a  rule.  The  Daily  Clarion  and  The  Daily  Trumpet, 
the  hired  organs  of  the  McBride  and  Wilkins  factions,  raged 
and  foamed.  They  had  reckoned  without  their  host.  They 
had  rested  secure  in  the  assumption  that,  as  always  in  the 
past  they  had  hoodwinked  the  .people,  so  in  the  future  would 
that  task  be  an  easy  one.  They  foamed  and  fretted  about  the 
welfare  of  the  city.  They  abhorred  distasteful  local  politics, 
and  accused  the  Telegram  and  its  candidate  for  City  Attorney 
of  being  carpetbaggers,  interlopers,  experiments.  At  the  same 
time,  every  candidate  in  both  factions  was  being  unmercifully 
fleeced  and  bled  by  those  two  organs.  Their  small  spaced 
announcements  were  substituted  by  flaming  advertisements 
and  editorial  articles,  all  of  which  was  deemed  necessary  to 
the  success  of  the  cause,  but  which  also  cost  the  candidate 
double  the  usual  and  ordinary  advertising  rates.  Political 
campaigns  in  the  City  of  New  Orleans  were  the  harvest  times 

94 


HONEST  GOVERNMENT 

for  The  Daily  Clarion  and  Daily  Trumpet.  The  harvesis 
were  not,  however,  legitimate  nor  honorable.  The  candi 
date  for  public  office  was  simply  "held  up,"  pilfered,  robbed, 
fleeced,  by  the  two  organs.  Once  his  money  went  into  the 
organ's  coffers  he  was  thereafter  at  the  organ's  mercy.  True, 
his  announcement  continued  to  appear  in  the  organs,  but 
occasional  side-thrusts,  anonymous  suggestions,  or  editorial 
praise  of  his  opponent  would  seem  to  require  "special  men 
tion"  in  the  news  columns  at  double  advertising  rates.  These 
"specials"  were  always  suggested  by  intermediate  friends 
connected  with  the  organ,  perhaps  the  advertising  solicitor. 
The  advertising  solicitor  during  these  campaigns  was  fre 
quently  a  stranger,  but  who  was  thoroughly  posted  on  the 
local  situation.  He  knew  every  tender,  every  weak  spot  of 
every  candidate.  If  one  means  did  not  bring  results,  he 
would  adopt  another  that  would,  and  it  always  ended  in 
the  complete  separation  and  divorcement  of  the  poor  candi 
date  from  his  money.  Such  was  the  system  of  newspaper 
pillage  at  that  time  in  the  fair  Southern  city  as  relating 
to  politics. 

But  this  was  not  the  greatest  burden  of  a  candidate's  life 
during  a  campaign  in  that  fair  city.  A  candidate  for  public 
office  was  generally  considered  as  a  legitimate  prey  for  a 
certain  class  of  the  people  of  all  parties.  Certain  societies, 
clubs  and  organizations  which  failed,  during  a  political  cam 
paign  to  hold  one  or  more  pay  entertainments,  picnics,  balls, 
barbecues,  suppers,  or  other  kind  of  thing,  were  considered 
derelict  of  duty.  Of  course,  no  candidate  for  a  public  office 
could  afford  to  offer  an  affront  to  any  one  of  those  aggrega 
tions  by  refusing  to  purchase  one  or  more  tickets  for  each 


NORKOMA 

attraction,  provided  he  had  the  money  or  could  purchase  on 
credit,  payable  "before  the  election." 

Every  candidate  knew  that  the  simple  purchase  of  those 
tickets  would  not  make  him  a  single  vote,  because  he  was 
expected  to  buy  the  tickets  whether  he  attended  the  func 
tion  or  not.  If  he  attended  the  function,  a  thing  none  but 
amateur  candidates  ever  did,  he  was  afforded  an  expe 
rience  "long  to  be  remembered."  To  refuse  to  buy  tickets, 
however,  was  sometimes  construed  to  be  an  affront  to  the 
"society"  or  "aggregation,"  and  frequently  caused  a  candi 
date  the  loss  of  many  votes.  So,  the  candidate  usually 
showed  "his  good  will"  and  "helped  the  cause"  by  making 
his  purchase  of  tickets. 

But  this  was  in  the  circle  of  what  was  known  as  "polite 
politics,"  and  did  not  reach  the  "rank  and  file,"  the  "faith 
ful,"  the  "ward  heeler,"  the  "floating  element,"  nor  the 
"negro."  All  these  elements  had  to  be  taken  into  account, 
for  they,  each  and  all  had  their  "political  pull,"  their  "polit 
ical  'fiuence,"  and  were  a  part  of  the  machinery  of  a  cam 
paign.  Xo  candidate  could  expect  this  machinery  to  run 
smoothly  without  fuel  and  plenty  of  "oil,"  and  the  candidate 
was  expected  to  furnish  both,  if  he  desired  the  benefit  of 
the  political  "pull"  and  "  'fluence"  in  his  behalf. 

Joe  Butler,  the  college  friend  of  young  Marchand,  and 
the  editor,  manager  and  publisher  of  The  Daily  Telegram, 
had  charge  of  the  Marchand  campaign.  The  two  men  were 
together  a  great  deal  during  the  canvass  among  the  citizens. 
Butler  had  been  in  politics  before,  and  knew  how  to  escape 
the  "all  important"  elements  that  "hang  on"  like  leeches 
:n  every  campaign.  He  knew,  to  a  nicety,  the  modes,  sys 
tems  and  methods  of  the  armies  that  swarm  around  the  can- 


HONEST  GOVERNMENT 

didate  in  all  political  campaigns,  and  he  knew  as  well  how 
to  handle  those  political  vipers.  He  did  not  shun  them 
nor  keep  out  of  their  way.  In  fact,  he  mingled  with  them, 
talked  with  them,  introduced  his  candidate  to  them.  He  had 
an  object  in  doing  so.  He  knew  the  whole  thing  was  re 
volting  to  his  candidate  and  friend,  but,  at  the  same  time,  it 
was  an  experience  of  invaluable  benefit  to  young  Marchand. 
The  system,  or  practice,  was  disgusting  to  honest,  hon 
orable  men,  and  he  knew  that  when  young  Marchand  had 
reached  the  limit  of  his  patience,  his  revolt  would  be  vol 
canic  in  its  nature.  Butler  was  anxiously  awaiting  the  reac 
tion.  For  him  it  could  not  come  too  soon.  , 

Young  Marchand  earnestly  began  rebelling  against  inter 
mingling  with  the  "hobo"  element.  Butler,  winking  in  his 
sleeve,  insisted  that  to  be  a  politician,  one  must  be  a  "Bo 
hemian,"  a  "good  fellow,"  and  in  Home,  "a  Eoman."  Ee- 
plying,  at  last,  young  Marchand  declared  that  he  would  not 
submit  to  such  practice  for  all  the  public  offices  in  the 
United  States. 

"Then,"  said  Butler,  "at  a  public  meeting  declare  your 
self  from  the  stump.  Announce  your  ideas  upon  political 
campaigns,  and  let  the  people  know  where  you  stand.  The 
Daily  Telegram  will  take  pleasure  in  reporting  your  platform, 
and  will  issue  ten  thousand  extra  copies  to  be  placed  in 
the  homes  of  the  people." 

"I'll  do  it,  and  the  sooner  you  can  arrange  the  public 
meeting  the  better  it  will  suit  me,"  quickly  responded  the 
young  lawyer. 

So  said,  so  done.  The  Daily  Telegram  duly  announced 
a  mass  meeting  and  rally  for  the  following  evening,  and 
everybody  was  invited.  The  news  spread  around  that  the 

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NORKOMA 

young  lawyer  was  to  announce  his  platform  of  principles 
and  to  declare  what  might  be  expected  of  him  in  the  event 
of  his  election.  This  morsel  of  news  was  read  with  as  much 
interest  by  the  opposing  factions  as  it  was  by  the  friends  of 
good  government,  for,  if  young  Marchand  were  elected,  he 
was  almost  certain  to  drag  forth  the  skeletons  from  the  polit 
ical  closets  of  former  administrations. 

The  time  for  the  mass  meeting  came  around.  There  never 
had  been  witnessed  in  that  quaint  old  Southern  city  such 
a  throng  of  citizens,  men  and  women,  as  assembled  around 
the  monument  on  Lafayette  Square,  on  this  occasion.  A 
plaftorm  had  been  erected  for  the  speakers  and  committee 
men.  The  evening  was  beautiful,  clear  and  moonlit.  The 
great  mass  of  people  surged  like  the  waves  of  the  sea;  and 
for  a  block  distant  many  of  them  were  trying  to  edge  their 
way  closer  to  the  speaker's  platform,  while  the  brass  band 
rendered  several  numbers,  keeping  the  people  in  good  spirit 
until  the  speaking  should  begin.  Although  it  lacked  fifteen 
minutes  of  the  time  to  open  the  meeting,  according  to  the 
announcement,  it  was  certain  that  no  speaker  could  make 
himself  heard  by  half  of  those  already  present  and  anxious 
to  hear,  so  large  was  the  crowd.  Joe  Butler  was  already 
aware  of  that  fact.  He  was  equal  to  the  occasion.  He 
immediately  sent  out  several  strong  voiced  men  who  climbed 
high  upon  telegraph  poles  along  the  street  where  they  could 
make  themselves  distinctly  heard.  Then  Butler  mounted 
the  speaker's  stand  and  announced  that,  as  no  speaker  could 
make  himself  heard  by  such  a  large  audience,  he  had  decided 
to  give  a  full  report  of  the  speeches  in  The  Daily  Telegram 
the  following  day,  and  that  the  same  would  be  distributed 
among  the  people,  gratis.  That  everybody  who  desired  a 


HONEST  GOVERNMENT 

copy  of  the  paper  could  procure  same  at  all  news  stands 
without  pay  and  without  price.  Butler  was  then  followed  by 
his  assistants  from  the  telegraph  poles,  each  of  whom  repeated 
the  same  statement,  so  that  everyone  present  was  informed 
upon  the  matter. 

The  exercises  opened  in  due  form,  and  young  Marchand 
was  introduced  to  the  audience.  He  needed  no  introduction — 
that  was  a  mere  matter  of  form.  As  he  appeared  at  the 
front  of  the  platform,  the  vast  audience  went  wild  with 
enthusiasm.  The  air  was  rent  with  the  shouts  of  the  people 
as  by  the  peal  of  thunder.  It  echoed  and  reverberated  from 
street  to  street,  until  it  rolled  out  upon  the  placid  waters  of 
the  Mississippi,  where  peacefully  lay  the  great  tramps  of 
commerce  awaiting  their  cargoes  of  that  fleecy  staple,  the 
"king  of  the  South."  It  was  a  mighty  chorus  of  human 
voices,  such  as  was  never  heard  before  nor  since  in  that 
great  city.  There  had  been  no  practice,  no  drilling  of  voices 
to  produce  this  unison  and  simultuous  outburst  of  the  thou 
sands  present.  It  required  no  director  with  poised  baton  to 
bring  forth  this  instantaneous  chorus  from  ten  thousand 
throats.  The  people  were  filled  with  the  spirit  of  liberty  and 
freedom,  and  they  now  rejoiced  that  they  had  a  leader  who 
would  lead  them  out  of  bondage  and  set  them  free  again. 
The  sight  of  their  young  leader,  as  he  appeared  upon  the 
rostrum,  thrilled  them  and  set  their  very  souls  on  fire.  No 
wonder  they  shouted  as  one  man.  No  wonder  the  welkin 
rang  as  it  had  never  rung  before.  Their  enthusiasm  wa^ 
borne  out  upon  the  evening  breezes  until  it  permeated  every 
artery  of  that  great  and  busy  city.  It  echoed  from  a  thou 
sand  steam  whistles  along  the  wharves  and  railroad  yards. 
The  surging  crowd  knew  the  meaning.  The  spirit  of  free- 

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NORKOMA 

dom  and  liberty  possessed  them  afresh,  and  their  enthusiasm 
knew  no  bounds. 

More  than  a  half  hour  had  passed  ere  the  great  crowd 
of  people  present  contented  itself  to  listen  to  the  words 
of  its  spokesman  and  leader.  Young  Marchand,  in  the  full 
flush  of  zealous,  honest  youth,  began  his  address.  We  shall 
content  ourselves  with  but  a  few  quotations  therefrom,  per- 
initting  the  reader  to  draw  upon  his  imagination  to  the 
point  of  satisfaction.  In  part, 'the  young  orator  said: 

"I  am  expected  to  declare  my  principles  and  pronounce 
my  platform  here  tonight.  It  is  useless  to  tell  you  that  T 
believe  in  honest  government,  for  we  all  believe  in  that,  and 
if  we,  the  people,  would  be  honest  with  ourselves  and  honest 
with  our  candidates  for  public  office,  we  would  elect  honest 
men  and  have  honest  government.  But  we  don't  do  that. 
We  expect  every  other  fellow  to  be  honest,  while  we  know 
down  deep  in  our  hearts  that  some  people  are  dishonest  with 
the  candidate,  and  with  the  officer  after  he  is  elected.  A 
certain  class  looks  upon  a  candidate  for  public  office  as  a 
shining  mark  to  be  robbed,  bled,  plundered  and  despoiled, 
until  they  have  made  his  campaign  cost  him  more  money 
than  the  legitimate  emoluments  of  the  office  afford.  Not 
satisfied  with  that,  they  seek  personal  favors  of  him  as  an 
officer,  and  often  such  favors  as  they  would  not  wish  for 
the  public  to  know  about. 

"My  friends,  human  nature  is  not  overly  strong.  Men 
are  but  human  beings  and  liable  to  err,  at  the  best;  but 
when  a  good,  clean  citizen  has  been  induced  to  stand  for  a 
public  office,  and,  later,  finds  that  he  has  been  looted,  hi? 
good  name  bandied  about,  his  reputation  besmirched,  his 
nature  revolts,  and,  sometimes,  he  might  be  tempted  to  come 

100 


.  HONEST  GOVERNMENT 

out  of  office  with  as  small  financial  loss  as  possible. 

"So  far  in  this  campaign,  had  I  yielded  to  the  numerous 
attempts  that  were  made  to  extract  money  from  me,  I  would 
have  expended  a  sum  much  larger  than  are  the  honest  emol 
uments  of  the  office  which  I  seek.  And  should  I  be  elected 
to  the  office,  I'm  sure  there  will  be  a  certain  class  of  citizens 
applying  for  certain  favors  which  I  promise  you  shall  never 
be  granted  by  me. 

"My  friends,  while  we  permit  this  deplorable  practice  of 
despoiling  candidates  for  public  office  to  continue,  how  can 
we  expect  honest  government?  Whenever  you  see  a  candi 
date  who  is  buying  tickets  for  all  the  balls,  concerts,  picnics, 
barbecues,  and  spending  his  money  on  the  thousands  of 
schemes  devised  during  campaigns  with  which  to  decoy  and 
rob  candidates,  you  may  rest  assured  that  such  a  man  i? 
not  the  proper  person  to  be  elected  to  any  public  office. 

"But  there  are  extenuating  circumstance^..  Few,  if  any. 
candidates  willingly  lavish  their  money  upon  these  things. 
They  feel  constrained  so  to  do  under  the  pressure  brought 
to  bear  upon  them  from  many  quarters.  They  are  entreated, 
bantered,  caressed,  cajoled,  frightened,  and  put  through  a 
thousand  'grafting'  processes,  and  by  many  people  who  have 
not  stopped  to  think  that  they  are  committing  a  wrongful  act. 
True  it  is,  that  many  of  these  campaign  'grafters'  ply  their 
nefarious  trade  through  love  of  money  gained  by  vile  and 
lecherous  methods.  That  kind  of  people  care  little  about 
honest  government — they  are  worse  than  highway  robbers 
— they  don't  want  honest  government.  With  an  honest  ad 
ministration  they  would  find  no  place — their  occupation 
would  be  gone. 

"Now,  my  friends,  if  you  are  in  favor  of  an  honest  gov- 

101 


NORKOMA 

eminent,  be  honest  with  yourselves  and  with  the  candidate 
for  public  office.  Do  not  make  it  cost  a  man  more  than 
the  office  is  worth.  Then  be  honest  with  him  after  he  is 
elected.  Don't  try  to  persuade  him  to  favor  you  in  some 
matter  and  in  some  manner  that  you  would  be  ashamed  for 
the  people  to  know  about.  If  the  whole  people  will  do  this, 
we  will  always  have  honest  government. 

"So  far  as  I  am  personally  concerned,  I  say  to  you  that 
I  shall  not,  while  a  candidate  for  public  office,  allow  any 
person  to  sell  me  something  I  do  not  want.  I  shall  treat 
no  person  to  a  cigar  or  glass  of  beer  while  a  candidate  for 
office.  I  shall  not  allow  a  single  promise  to  be  drawn  from 
me  squinting  at  favoritism.  And,  as  to  my  official  conduct 
if  elected,  I  shall  not  grant  a  favor  to  any  man  on  earth  that 
I  would  not  have  openly  published  to  the  world.  If  you  want 
that  kind  of  officer,  I  ask  your  support.  If  not,  I  don't 
want  your  votes.  If  there  are  not  enough  honest  votes  in  this 
city  to  elect  me,  I  do  not  want  the  office.  An»honest  govern 
ment  must  be  backed  up  by  honest  citizenship,  and  when 
the  citizenship  becomes  corrupt,  there  is  no  longer  any  hope 
for  honest  government." 

The  following  day,  The  Daily  Telegram  contained  Mar- 
chand's  speech  in  full.  The  people  read  it  over  and  over 
again.  True,  it  rebuked  a  certain  class  of  the  people,  but 
upon  sober  reflection  they  knew  it  contained  the  truth.  His 
plainly  spoken  truths  settled  down  in  their  hearts,  and 
many  of  them  who  had  been  guilty,  determined  that  the 
d&y  for  reformation  was  at  hand.  Marchand's  plain  state 
ment  that  a  clean  government  could  not  be  expected  of  an 
unclean  people  was  unanswerable.  His  election  was  now 
conceded  by  both  factions,  unless  there  be  some  unfair 

102 


HONEST  GOVERNMENT 

method  of  forestalling  it.  The  factions  held  a  secret  caucus, 
at  which  it  was  decided  that,  as  Marchand  had  not  been 
nominated  by  a  regularly  organized  political  party,  his  name 
could  not  legally  be  placed  upon  the  official  ballot.  This 
idea  was  too  bright  to  be  kept  in  the  dark.  It  was  too  good 
news  to  be  kept  from  the  anxious  public.  The  joyous  plan 
was  heralded  broadcast  as  a  great  strategic  move  on  the 
part  of  the  old  "substantial"  factions.  It  was  glorious  news 
to  the  loyal  members  of  the  old  guard,  but  it  was  doomed  to 
a  short  life.  There  were  still  courts  of  justice  in  the  land. 
Justice  had  not  fled  from  the  jurist's  bench.  The  people 
had  some  rights  which  the  McBride  and  Wilkins  factions 
could  not  abridge  nor  subvert.  Those  rights  were  guaranteed 
to  them  by  the  Constitution  of  the  State.  At  first,  the  people 
stood  aghast  at  the  brazenness  of  the  old  factions  in  thus 
attempting  to  deprive  them  of  their  constitutional  and  inher 
ent  rights. 

The  Daily  Telegram  assured  the  people  that  their  rights 
should  be  sacredly  preserved.  And  they  were  preserved.  The 
refusal  of  the  authorities  to  print  the  name  of  Walter  Mar 
chand,  the  name  of  the  people's  nominee  for  City  Attorney, 
upon  the  official  ballot  was  quickly  followed  by  an  order  of 
mandamus  from  the  court.  That  settled  it.  Another  order 
followed,  directing  all  election  officers  to  allow  said  Walter 
Marchand  representation  upon  each  official  board  at  every 
voting  precinct  in  the  city.  It  was  the  people's  ticket,  and 
the  people  demanded  that  they  have  a  "free  ballot  and  a  fair 
count."  The  District  Court  granted  the  demand,  and  that 
clinched  the  matter.  There  was  no  way  now  for  the  ring 
bosses  to  defeat  the  will  of  the  people,  and  they  knew  it.  The 
people  also  knew  it. 

103 


NORKOMA 


******* 


The  election  was  over,  and  ''the  people'*  were  victorious 
beyond  their  wildest  anticipations  and  dreams.  Marchand, 
as  sanguine  as  he  had  been,  was  confused  at  his  overwhelm 
ing  majority.  Nothing  like  it  had  ever  before  occurred  in 
that  city.  "Marchand  and  honest  government"  had  won  a 
great  victory  in  the  first  battle  of  the  people. 


104 


A  MORAL  AWAKENING 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  MORAL  AWAKENING. 

The  election  of  Walter  Marchand  by  such  an  astounding 
majority  was  but  the  beginning  of  a  moral  wave  that  for  a 
time  swept  over  the  whole  country.  It  was  a  revival  of  those 
periods  when  the  people  rule.  Municipal  and  state  gov 
ernment  had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  few,  and  was  no 
longer  the  government  of  the  people. 

The  "New  South"  had  but  begun  to  take  on  the  energy  of 
a  commercialism  she  had  not  experienced  before.  The  people 
were  busy  with  the  loom,  the  factory  and  the  shop.  New  rail 
roads  were  pointing  their  noses  in  the  direction  of  the  Gulf 
of  Mexico,  and  an  era  of  commercialism  had  taken  hold  of 
the  people.  New  men,  new  enterprises,  new  industries,  and 
new  money  were  seeking  homes,  locations,  employment.  A 
new  order  of  things  was  adjusting  itself,  replacing  the  old 
habits,  modes  and  customs.  During  this  period  of  change, 
the  people  forgot  government,  and  forgot  their  duty  as  inte 
gral  parts  of  the  government.  Many  there  were  who  knew 
that  a  day  of  awakening  would  sooner  or  later  come.  They 
knew  that  when  the  municipality  or  the  state  is  turned  over 
to  the  few,  there  soon  develops  a  feeling  that  the  "few"  own 
the  government.  The  small  official  coterie  becomes  corrupt, 
and  as  the  corruption  grows  aggressive,  patriotism  goes  into 

105 


NORKOMA 

decline.  When  corruption  once  seizes  hold  upon  the  govern 
ment  of  the  municipality,  state  or  nation,  the  people  are 
to  blame,  for  the  government  is  of,  for  and  by  the  people; 
and  if  the  corruption  is  to  be  eradicated,  the  people  alone 
can  accomplish  that  end.  Never  can  this  be  done,  however, 
until  the  individual  citizen  realizes  and  appreciates  the  duty 
he  owes  to  his  city,  state  and  nation,  as  a  component  part 
of  the  government  thereof. 

Young  Marchand  was  now  looked  upon  as  the  great  and 
growing  leader  of  the  people  in  their  battle  against  cor 
ruption  in  public  office.  Many  were  the  letters  and  mes 
sages  of  congratulation  received  by  the  young  leader  from 
all  over  the  state. 

<rWhat  does  all  this  mean?"  Asked  the  young  attorney 
of  the  elder  Marchand,  one  morning  when  his  mail  was 
heavier  than  usual.  "Do  you  really  believe  there  is  as  much 
corruption  in  our  public  offices  as  would  seem  to  appear 
from  the  contents  of  all  these  letters?'' 

"Perhaps  not,"  answered  the  father.  "There  seems  to 
be  a  lull  in  the  business  world  just  now,  and  the  people  are 
taking  the  time  to  observe  the  manipulation  of  government. 
It  is  only  a  case  of  history  repeating  itself.  Your  public 
rebuke  of  the  people  happened  at  the  proper  time.  Had  you 
done  that  two  years  ago,  you  would  have  been  driven  out  of 
town,  scorned  and  derided." 

"But,  father,  I  merely  told  the  truth.  A  matter  of  a 
short  space  of  time  does  not  transform  a  vice  into  a  virtue." 

"No,  certainly  not.  Public  sentiment  in  politics,  how 
ever,  is  the  all-ruling  and  governing  power,  and  while  a 
few  citizens  may  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  political  and 

106 


official  corruption,  it  requires  a  public  sentiment,  backed  b)' 
the  votes  of  the  people,  to  eradicate  the  evil." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  returned  Walter.  "But  what  about  the  indi 
vidual  duty  of  the  citizen  or  officer,  when  he  knows  that 
this  corruption  exists?" 

"Well,  that  is  a  matter  of  individual  conscience,  I  sup 
pose.  Occasionally,  a  citizen  or  an  honest  official  tries  his 
hand  at  the  'cleaning  up'  process,  and  if  public  sentiment 
upon  the  subject  be  not  ripe,  the  citizen  or  the  officer  tires  of 
the  attempt,  becomes  disgusted  and  falls  back  into  the  rut. 
The  laws,  then,  remain  dead  letters,  while  official  corrup 
tion  runs  riot  until  there  is  such  an  awakening  among  the 
people  as  will  back  up  the  citizen  or  the  officer  in  his 
herculean  efforts.  Then  it  becomes  a  moral  revolution,  and 
the  people  see  how  they  have  been  plundered.  They  wit 
ness  the  rottenness  in  all  its  intensity  and  energy,  from  one 
end  of  the  country  to  the  other.  They  awaken  to  the  fact 
that  there  have  grown  up  certain  classes  especially  favored 
and  especially  privileged  under  the  laws,  and  by  the  officers 
elected  to  execute  and  enforce  the  laws.  They  pass,  as  it 
were,  from  a  period  of  sordid,  selfish  commerce  into  a  tempo 
rary  period  of  high  ideals  and  high  political  standards,  only 
to  relapse  again,  for  a  period,  into  a  political  comatose  state, 
that  pillage  and  plunder  may  again  grow  rife.  So  it  is,  my 
boy,  and  so  has  it  been  since  this  republic  was  founded." 

"The  people,  then,  deserve  just  what  they  get,"  eagerly 
replied  the  younger  man,  his  face  flushing  with  the  energy 
of  youth. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  since  the  government  is  of  and  by  the 
people.  Don't  you  remember  your  statement  that  'an  honest 
government  must  be  backed  up  by  an  honest  people  ?"; 

107 


NORKOMA 

"Yes,  and  that  is  true.  But  the  people,  as  a  rule,  are 
honest,  and  want  honest  government.  Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"That  is  no  doubt  true,  as  a  general  proposition,  so  long 
as  you  apply  it  to  'the  majority'  of  the  people.  Usually, 
'the  majority'  of  the  people  that  want  honest  government  are 
not  the  ones  who  seek  'special  favors,'  special  privileges, 
for  the  'majority'  comprise  the  common  people,  the  employed, 
the  man  without  a  business  of  his  own.  The  men  of  large 
business,  large  means,  corporations,  trusts  and  combines  also 
want  honest  government,  but  if  their  interests  may  be  favored 
in  any  manner  at  the  expense  of  government,  they  certainly 
prefer  that.  Of  course,  that  may  appear  selfish,  and  per 
haps  it  is." 

"Well,  father,  when  it  conies  down  to  human  selfishness, 
I  can  not  see  that  the  fellow  with  small  means,  or  the  man 
without  any  means  at  all  has  any  advantage  over  the  man 
with  large  means.  Certainly,  I  made  no  such  discovery  I'D 
my  late  campaign  for  City  Attorney.  iMost  assuredly  I  met 
people  of  both  classes  that  were  equally  anxious  to  greatly 
assist  and  use  their  influence  in  my  behalf,  all  for  varied 
amounts  and  considerations." 

"Oh,  well,  my  son,  you  have  a  great  deal  to  learn  along 
these  lines,  if  you  would  remain  in  public  life.  It  is  a  great 
study,  and  many  smart  men  have  given  their  lives  to  it, 
only  to  die  disappointed  and  broken  hearted  in  the  end." 

"What  we  need  to  perpetuate  good,  honest  government 
are  men  with  civic  pride  and  downright  patriotism.  Men 
with  a  patriotism  who,  if  need  be,  would  give  up  their  lives 
for  their  city  or  state.  There  is  as  much  patriotism  in  de 
voting  one's  life  to  bettering  the  government  by  eradicating 
the  evil,  electing  good  men,  and  purifying  the  ballot  as  there 

108 


A  MORAL  AWAKENING 

is  in  baring  one's  breast  in  battle  to  the  fire  of  his  country's 
enemy." 

"That  is  true,  my  son,  and  I  am  proud  to  know  that,  since 
you  appear  to  have  been  selected  as  the  standard  bearer  of 
the  people,  in  their  present  battle  against  corruption,  you 
have  the  honesty,  the  integrity  and  the  native  Marchand 
courage  to  withstand  any  onslaught  that  may  be  made  upon 
you.  Look  out  for  it,  my  son,  it  will  come.  You  will 
be  subjected  to  all  sorts  of  intrigue,  perhaps  death." 

"Well,"  laughed  Walter,  "I  will  be  a  patriot  in  that  event." 

"Patriots  are  generally  dead.  Everybody  loves  dead  pa 
triots,  while  the  live  ones  have  the  most  bitter  enemies.  You 
have  entered  upon  a  hard  road,  my  son,  and  you  must  not 
expect  easy  traveling  if  you  would  reach  the  goal  you  seek, 
or  accomplish  what  the  people  expect  of  you.  Of  all  the  bit 
ter  curses  upon  this  earth,  man's  inhumanity  to  man  is  the 
most  bitter,  and  men  in  public  life  realize  that  fact  more 
than  any  other  class." 

"Certainly,  father,  you  must  have  had  some  political  dis 
appointment  in  your  lifetime,  else  you  would  not  paint  such 
lurid  pictures." 

"jSTo,  I  never  was  even  a  candidate  for  a  public  office  in 
my  life.  True,  I  have  been  disappointed  in  some  of  my 
friends  who  have  been  in  public  life.  Sometimes  I  was  not 
as  honest  with  them,  as  officials  and  public  servants,  a*  I 
should  have  been,  but  I  presume  I  was  not  different,  in  that 
respect,  from  others,"  said  Mr.  Marchand  with  a  smile. 

"That  is  the  trouble  with  our  system  of  government.  If  all 
of  the  people  would  be  honest  there  would  be  little  oppor 
tunity  for  the  dishonesty  of  the  officer.  You,  no  doubt,  as  an 
attorney  for  some  client,  sought  favors  or  special  privileges 

109 


NORKOMA 

and,  while  others  may  have  succeeded,  you  possibly  failed, 
hence  your  dissatisfaction  with  the  officer.  Why  were  you 
selected  as  the  'go-between'  ? — Because  of  your  friendship 
with  the  officer,  no  doubt.  In  that,  you  were  merely  a  tool, 
an  instrument,  and  we  might  say,  'the  hired  assassin.'  It 
was  wrong.  Your  employer  knew  that  it  was  wrong,  and 
you  knew  it  was  wrong.  Had  the  officer  done  your  bidding, 
he  would  have  deserved  the  least  blame  of  any  of  you,  but 
he  would  have  been  looked  upon  as  the  culprit  and  would 
have  been  spurned  by  the  people." 

The  conversation  between  the  father  and  son  was  inter 
rupted  by  the  appearance  of  Joe  Butler,  their  mutual  friend, 
and  the  publisher  of  The  Daily  Telegram. 

"Pardon  me,  my  friends.  Let  me  first  make  it  plain 
that  I  did  not  come  here  seeking  a  job  for  myself  or  for  any 
other  person.  You  have  had  several  applications  already, 
Walter?" 

"Oh,  a  few,"  replied  Walter  with  a  knowing  smile. 

"Well,  don't  be  surprised  if  you  have  a  few  hundred  in 
the  next  few  days,"  returned  Butler.  "If  I  can  be  of  any 
service  to  you,  do  not  hesitate  to  command  me.  I  am  glad 
I  find  both  of  you  present,  as  I  have  a  business  proposition 
to  present,  and  a  matter  in  which  both  might  become  in 
terested.  The  question  of  incorporating  The  Daily  Telegram 
has  been  suggested  by  the  owners,  and  in  that  connection, 
it  has  been  suggested  that  both  of  you  gentlemen  should 
become  stockholders.  What  do  you  think  about  it?"  queried 
Butler,  looking  directly  at  the  younger  Marchand. 

"Is  the  plant  operating  at  a  loss  or  a  profit,  and  what  are 
its  future  prospects?"  inquired  Walter. 

"When  I  took  charge  of  the  plant  it  was  worth  little,  as 

110 


A  MORAL  AWAKENING 

you  know,  but  the  present  patronage  is  making  it  a  paying 
concern.  The  present  owners  believe  that  by  incorporating 
and  distributing  the  stock  among  certain  business  men  and 
officials,  the  future  of  the  plant  would  be  certain.  So  far 
as  the  legal  business  of  perfecting  the  organization,  preparing 
and  procuring  the  charter  is  concerned,  I  desired  to  turn  that 
into  the  hands  of  this  firm,  and  that  is  my  mission  here 
now.  As  to  the  question  of  stock  subscription,  I  have  nothing 
to  say,  except  that  the  parties  interested  seemed  anxious  that 
the  new  City  Attorney  should  own  a  nice  block  of  stock  in 
the  company." 

The  elder  Marchand  having  been  partially  engaged  with 
some  papers  upon  his  desk,  smiled  as  the  son  quickly  replied 
to  Butler's  last  statement. 

"Why  do  you  people  want  the  new  City  Attorney  to  become 
a  stockholder  ?  Certainly,  that  office  will  distribute  con 
siderable  advertising,  but  it  will  be  done  upon  purely  bus 
iness  principles  while  I  shall  control  it.  Were  I  a  stockholder 
in  one  of  the  concerns  bidding  for  the  business,  I  might  at 
first  unconsciously  favor  that  concern.  Later,  I  might  do  it 
wilfully.  That  would  be  wrong.  Most  assuredly,  the  people 
would  not  look  favorably  upon  the  proposition.  In  fact,  T 
do  not  look  favorably  upon  it,  since  I  come  to  think  it  over. 
I  speak  for  myself  only,  however." 

"Well,  Walter,  I  think  you  are  right,"  Butler  replied. 
"Uncompromising  honesty  is  a  good  asset,  and  a  characteris 
tic  that  is  too  frequently  lacking  in  the  official  world.  True, 
it  is  not  always  an  easy  matter  to  practice  it,  I  suppose,  but 
as  you  have  thus  begun,  you  will  grow  stronger  in  your 
power  to  discern  and  overcome  the  evil  that  lies  before  you." 

"Do  you  suppose  the  parties  you  represent  in  this  matter 

111 


NORKOMA 

designed  that,  by  having  an  interest  in  their  plant,  I  would 
use  my  office  to  advance  that  interest  ?" 

"I  suppose  they  had  in  mind  the  idea  of  combining  siii:li 
forces  as  would  likely  attract  business  to  the  new  organiza 
tion.  That  would  be  natural  in  the  organization  of  any  bus 
iness  concern." 

"You  seem  to  have  drawn  considerable  patronage  away 
from  the  Clarion  and  the  Trumpet,  recently,"  remarked  the 
elder  Marchand.  "I  suppose  you  will  be  more  or  less  drawn 
into  the  continuous  newspaper  harangue,  will  you  not." 

"No,"  said  Butler.  "I  never  knew  anything  to  be  gained 
by  that  kind  of  business.  It  hurts  a  town,  and  it's  disgust 
ing  to  all  peace-loving  citizens  of  a  community.  By  the 
way,  Colonel  Marchand,  when  will  it  suit  you  to  meet  with 
us  to  arrange  for  the  incorporation.  I  can  arrange  for  it 
this  evening  if  convenient  for  you.  We"  will  meet  in  my 
office." 

"That  will  suit  me  to  a  nicety,  as  I  want  to  leave  the 
city  for  some  time,  by  Sunday.  Let  me  see — today  is  Wed 
nesday.  Yes,  that  will  give  me  time  to  complete  the  matter. 
By  the  way,  Butler,  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  since  you  are 
a  close  friend  of  Walter's,  that  I  am  about  to  enter  the  field 
of  matrimony,  but  this  news  is  not  for  publication.  Don't 
forget  that  fact." 

"The  secret  shall  be  well  guarded,  Colonel,"  said  Butler, 
slyly  winking  at  Walter. 

"Why,  father,  Mr.  Butler  had  guessed  the  truth  before 
you  really  obtained  your  full  consent  to  marry,"  laughingly 
interjected  Walter,  returning  Butler's  jovial  wink. 

"Ah,  you  young  rascals  always  think  you  know  a  heap 
more  than  you  really  do,"  responded  Mr.  Marchand,  in  a 

112 


A  MORAL  AWAKENING 

good-natured  manner,   "but  it  takes  more  experience  than 
either  of  you  have  to  keep  up  with  us  older  fellows." 

"That's  what  it  does,  Colonel.  Now,  I'll  be  going,  and 
will  arrange  the  meeting  for  this  evening,"  said  Butler,  as 
he  turned  to  leave. 

"'Say,  Butler,"  cautioned  Mr.  Marchand,  "that  bit  of  news 
is  to  be  a  secret.  My  marriage,  you  know." 

"Qli,  not  for  the  world,  Colonel.  Good  day,"  returned  But 
ler,  as  he  passed  out  of  the  inner  office,  leaving  the  father 
and  son  alone  together. 

"That  fellow  Butler  is  a  sharp,  shrewd  man,"  remarked 
the  elder  Marchand,  "and  I  am  glad  he  is  your  friend, 
Walter." 

"Better  than  all,  I  think  he  is  honest  and  upright,"  said 
Walter  in  reply,  "that  is,  in  all  his  dealings  with  me.  I  have 
the  utmost  confidence  in  his  integrity  and  friendship." 

"Yes,  so  long  as  he  is  your  friend.  But,  Walter,  remem 
ber  that  in  politics  the  friend  of  today  may  be  the  enemy  of 
tomorrow.  A  little  caution,  taken  in  broken  doses,  and  mixed 
well  with  the  friendship  of  not  only  Butler,  but  every  other 
person,  may  sometimes  serve  you  well  and  prevent  a  broken 
heart  over  a  case  of  love-at-first-sight,  in  politics." 

"That  is  all  right,  father,  but  Joe  and  I  were  old  school 
boys  together — college  chums,  you  know." 

"Yes,  my  son,  I  know  all  about  the  'schoolmate'  and  'col 
lege  chum'  friend,  but  simply  speak  for  your  good,  generally. 
By  the  way,  have  you  heard  from  Edith  recently  ?  I  wonder 
how  my  letter  was  received  by  my  intended." 

"Oh,  finely.  Here  is  Edith's  letter.  I  received  it  this  morn 
ing.  You  may  read  it,"  said  Walter,  handing  the  letter  to 
the  elder  gentleman. 

113 


NORKOMA 

The  writer  spoke  of  the  joy  and  delight  that  both  letters 
had  given  the  two  anxious  inquirers.  That  the  present  month 
would  end  their  stay  at  the  old  college  town,  and  that  both 
were  laying  great  plans  for  their  future  happiness  that  was 
sure  to  await  them  in  the  old  home,  "The  Cedars." 

After  Mr.  Marchaud  had  read  the  letter,  he  remarked: 

"Well,  my  boy,  there's  going  to  be  a  new  life  for  me,  after 
all  these  weary  years.  I  am  really  anxious  to  be  off,  and  I 
can  hardly  wait  for  Sunday  to  come,  when  I  am  to  depart. 
The  days  will  seem  like  weeks  to  me  until  I  see  my  daughter 
Edith,  and—" 

"And — ,  and — ,  and — ,"  teasingly  interjected  Walter. 

"Yes,  yes,  you  understand,  of  course,  Mrs.  Olcott,  or  Mrs. 
Marchand  to  be,"  rejoined  the  father,  with  a  pleasing  smile. 


1J4 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
A  CONTENTED  FAMILY. 

"The  Cedars"  is,  once  more,  the  home  of  an  unbroken, 
happy,  very  happy  family.  The  charming  Mrs.  Olcott,  that 
was,  is  now.  the  sweet  and  gentle  mistress  of  the  beautiful 
old  homestead.  Surrounded  by  those  who  loved  her  with 
an  unerring  love;  who  lavished  upon  her  their  warmest  af' 
fections;  who  vied  with  each  other  in  exhibiting  the  highest 
esteem  for  her,  and  their  appreciation  of  her  noble  char 
acter,  Mrs.  Marchand  was,  indeed,  a  truly  happy  woman.  She 
was  now  enjoying  a  happiness  of  which  she  had,  in  the  past, 
only  hoped  for  but  had  not  known.  No  dreadful  nightmare 
of  doubt  and  fear  was  to  shadow  her  life  now.  Henceforth 
she  would  enjoy  one  prolonged  dream  of  peace  and  rest. 
What  a  recompense  after  all  the  years  of  toil,  worry,  doubt, 
misgivings  and  fear.  What  a  haven — what  a  happy  deliver 
ance  from  the  bondage  of  the  past. 

The  master  of  the  home  was  a  happy,  contented  man.  He 
had  known  domestic  bliss  in  the  years  gone  by,  but  it  was  a 
happiness  with  which  was  coupled  a  longing,  toiling  for 
the  future.  Not  so,  his*  present  joy,  for  he  had  reached 
the  goal.  Now,  he  basked  in  the  sunshine  of  contentment. 
Now,  he  looked  down  over  life's  decline  and  beheld  the 
beautiful  valleys  waving  with  the  ripened  grain.  His  plough- 

115 


NORKOMA 

ing  and  sowing  over — the  harvest  lay  in  rich  expanse 
before  him.  He  had  sown  good  seed  and  felt  assured  of 
the  fruits  of  the  harvest.  Ah,  what  a  sense  of  restfulness 
came  to  him  now,  as  he  stood,  as  it  were,  upon  the  summit  of 
life's  journey.  Back  of  him,  a  path  of  honest,  honorable  and 
righteous  conduct.  Before  him,  a  broad,  rich  expense,  sloping 
gently  into  the  mystic  Jordan,  a  seemingly  dividing  line, 
where  the  mortal  voice  whispers  "farewell,"  then  joins  in 
the  eternal  Hallelujah  chorus  upon  the  farther  shore.  He 
was  satisfied.  His  halcyon  dreams  of  youth  were  more  than 
realized  in  his  supreme  domestic  happiness.  Kind,  loving 
and  affectionate,  the  master  of  "The  Cedars"  was  dearly 
beloved,  honored  and  revered  by  the  members  of  his  house 
hold.  He  was  content. 

Nothing  more  could  man  and  wife  ask  for,  than  had  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Marchand,  to  make  their  lives  happy.  Theirs  was 
all,  and  more  if  possible,  that  poets  had  ever  sung  or  writ 
ten  of  "Home."  It  was  the  hearthstone  of  their  affections, 
the  altar  of  their  communings,  the  shield  of  their  noonday 
lives,  the  refuge  of  their  declining  days.  Happy  retreat, 
sacred  temple,  home,  sweet  home. 

Edith,  like  a  rosebud  with  petals  gently  unfolding,  dis 
closing  a  deeper,  richer  shade  of  coloring,  was  now  bloom 
ing  into  a  rare,  sweet  and  ripened  womanhood.  Her  long 
and  constant  association  with  the  matronly  Mrs.  Olcott 
tended,  in  a  great  measure,  to  earlier  mature  her  natural 
graces  and  queenly  manners.  Edith  Marchand  was  more 
than  a  queen;  she  was  a  typical  American  girl  with  the 
characteristics,  manners  and  charms  of  the  "first  ladies"  of 
the  "Old  South."  Her  return  to  her  home,  and  the  home  of 
her  ancestors  for  nearly  a  century,  served  to  bring  back 

116 


A  CONTENTED  FAMILY 

to  memory  the  early  history  of  "The  Cedars."  Upon  the 
walls  of  the  old  home  hung  the  portraits  of  the  Marchand 
family  for  several  generations,  some  of  them  bearing  the 
French  coat  of  arms,  thereby  evidencing  the  fact  that  the 
Marchands,  in  the  olden  days,  had  high  rank  in  the  royalty 
of  the  French  government.  As  a  matter  of  family  lineage., 
Edith  took  great  pride  in  this  royal  connection.  Not  thai, 
she  desired  to  assume  a  semi-regal  status.  Not  at  all.  Edith 
was  not  in  the  least  disposed  to  appear  as  being  other  than 
she  in  fact  was.  She  was  not  vain  nor  puffed  up  with  false 
pride.  Edith  loved  her  home  and  her  family  above  all  else 
in  the  world.  For  the  baubles  of  society  she  cared  little. 
An  accomplished  musician,  she  was  much  sought  after  at 
all  social  functions,  but  held  herself  in  queenly  reserve. 
Many  were  the  admirers  who  sought  the  friendship  and 
society  of  the  charming  young  lady,  and  all  found  an  in 
surmountable  barrier  at  a  certain  stage.  Some  of  them 
fawned  and  dawdled  at  her  feet,  as  it  were,  only  to  be 
brushed  aside  as  so  many  pesky  flies.  The  usual  silly,  idle, 
gossipy  twaddle,  found  no  abiding  place  with  Edith.  The 
insincere,  deceptive,  painstaking  hypocrisy,  sometimes  prac 
ticed  by  over-zealous  worshippers  at  Cupid's  shrine,  was  all 
lost  on  Edith  Marchand.  She  despised  hyprocisy;  ignored 
flattery;  spurned  insincerity.  She  was  a  woman. 

Edith  Marchand  was  a  regular  attendant  of  the  church 
services,  but  was  not  a  member  of  any  church.  If  a  neigh 
bor  became  sick,  Edith  Marchand  was  always  depended  upon 
to  render  whatever  services  were  within  her  power.  In  sick 
ness  and  distress,  Edith  became  the  one  ministering  angel 
of  the  neighborhood.  If  death  came  to  the  family  of  a  friend, 
Edith  was  there  to  comfort,  cheer  and  point  out  the  bright 

117 


NORKOMA 

way  to  those  in  the  darkness  of  their  sorrow.  Upon  her  face 
was  a  constant  radiance,  the  reflection  of  the  pure,  spotless 
soul  within.  Her  ministerings  were  not  coupled  with  red 
lanterns  nor  pulpit  advertisements.  On  her  tours  of  charity 
and  mercy,  she  was  never  accompanied  by  a  newspaper  re 
porter  nor  a  brass  band.  She  typified  the  true,  the  beau 
tiful,  and  the  good.  She  was  a  Christian. 

No  brother  was  ever  happier  than  was  Walter  Marchand, 
now  that  Edith  was  permanently  at  home.  The  charming 
companionship  of  their  younger  days  had  lost  none  of  its 
sweetness  by  the  flight  of  years.  The  brilliancy  of  the  social 
swirl  could  not  distract  it.  The  glamour  of  popular  society 
or  political  distinction  could  not  lure  it.  The  strenuous 
activity  of  the  business  world  could  not  weaken  it.  It  was 
unmovable,  it  was  firm,  it  was  fixed.  The  companionship 
of  brother  and  sister  was  often  the  subject  of  social  gossip, 
especially  among  those  whose  ambitions  had  not  been  grati 
fied  by  being  permitted  to  break  into  the  family  circle  of 
"The  Cedars."  To  those,  the  comradeship  of  the  brother 
and  sister  was  "downright  selfishness  "  and  a  challenge  to 
the  "quality"  of  the  social  circles  of  the  city's  "best  citi 
zens."  The  brother  and  sister  expected  the  world  would 
gossip,  but  little  cared  they.  The  father  and  mother  were, 
unto  themselves,  all  sufficient,  and  heeded  little  the  doings 
of  the  social  world.  The  brother  and  sister  often  wondered 
at  the  marvelous  love  they  each  bore  the  other,  but  it  gave 
them  no  great  concern.  It  was  a  striking  coincidence,  but 
it  was  not  alarming.  They  had  not  even  dreamed  of  a  secret 
cause  for  this  wonderful,  or  rather,  unordinaxy  situation. 
If  there  were  a  secret  cause,  they  were  not  expected  to  know 
the  secret.  The  mother,  being  a  stranger  to  the  family 

118 


A  CONTENTED  FAMILY 

history  and  family  connections,  was,  of  course,  not  cogni 
zant  of  the  secret,  if  any  there  were.  The  father,  the  only 
one  who  did  know,  had  resolved  that  it  should  remain  as 
in  the  past.  He,  alone,  did  not  wonder  nor  marvel  at  the 
strange  and  intense  love  between  his  son  and  daughter. 
He  did  wonder,  however,  at  the  growing  affection  of  the 
wife  for  his  son  Walter.  There  was  no  apparent  cause,  that 
is,  there  was  no  cause  other  than  an  affectionate  nature 
with  which  both  were  endowed.  But  Edith  was  not  different 
in  that  respect.  The  father  could  not  but  feel  an  unspeak 
able  gratification  that  his  household  was  one  of  peace,  love 
and  affection.  He  could  not  wish  it  otherwise — not  quite. 
Just  a  little  speck  had  risen  away  out  on  the  horizon,  but 
it  would  pass  by,  perhaps. 

"The  Cedars"  was  a  happy  little  world  within  itself.  Each 
member  of  the  household  bore  upon  his  countenance  the  radi 
ance  of  peace  and  contentment.  The  music  of  the  fireside 
was  never  marred  by  a  discordant  sound.  Every  word 
breathed  a  note  of  melody,  and  every  response  a  whisper  of 
love.  Every  going  out  carried  with  it  a  God  speed,  and  every 
coming  in  was  hailed  with  a  joyous  greeting.  Such  was  the 
home  life  of  the  little  family  at  "The  Cedars." 

So  pleasant  and  agreeable  was  the  home  life  of  young 
Walter  Marchand  that  it  had,  in  a  measure,  lured  him  from 
his  official  duties.  The  father  had,  recently,  intimated  to 
the  son  the  necessity  of  close  application  to  the  business  of 
his  public  office,  but  not  until  the  suggestion  was  followed  by 
a  similar  one  from  Joe  Butler,  was  it  of  any  avail.  Then  the 
young  man  pondered,  examined  himself,  and  recognized  the 
value  of  the  suggestion.  True,  he  had  begun  to  drift  into 
a  semi-carelessness  that  would,  in  time,  .leave  a  telling  effect 

119 


NORKOMA 

upon  his  official  conduct.  That  could  not  be  permitted 
under  any  circumstances.  He  had  promised  the  people  faith 
ful  attention  to  the  business  of  the  office.  He  must  con 
scientiously  perform  his  duties,  thereby  making  good  his 
promises  to  the  people.  There  could  be  no  excuse  for  an 
officer's  neglect  of  public  duty,  except  sickness  or  extreme 
misfortune.  He  had  suffered  neither.  One  course  alone  was 
left  for  him  to  pursue.  He  was  young,  energetic,  honest, 
and  had  the  confidence  of  the  people.  He  would,  therefore, 
shut  his  eyes  to  all  the  world,  except  the  vigorous  prosecu 
tion  of  the  business  of  the  office  which  he  held.  Those  duties 
he  would  perform  with  justice  and  impartiality,  let  come 
what  may.  His  own  conscience  would  be  clear,  and  he,  at 
least,  would  have  the  satisfaction  of  having  performed  his 
duty  well. 

Yes,  he  would  do  more.  He  would  make  a  study  of  the 
political  system  of  the  whole  country.  He  would  learn  the 
ways  of  government,  the  moving  powers,  the  trend  of  devel 
opment. 

Not  that  he  had  been  entirely  blind  to  the  recent  revo 
lution  of  commercial  activity  in  the  South.  Not  at  all.  He 
had  acquainted  himself  with  her  history,  and  had  witnessed 
the  slow  approach  of  the  tide  of  improvement.  He  had  also 
observed  the  slowly  changing  checker  board  of  commerce, 
indicated  by  the  building  «f  North  and  South  lines  of  rail 
road;  the  appropriations  by  the  national  government  for 
the  improvement  of  streams,  harbors  and  ports  along  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico;  the  renewed  agitation  for  the  construction 
of  an  Isthmian  canal.  Over  in  Texas  arose  the  agitation  of 
reciprocity  and  the  extension  of  American  commerce  with 
Latin-America.  Europe  controlled  ninety  per  cent  of  the 

120 


A  CONTENTED  FAMILY 

trade  of  Latin- America,  while  the  United  States,  a  sister  re 
public,  within  a  stone's  throw,  was  permitted  the  poor  privi 
lege  of  controlling  but  ten  per  cent  of  that  trade.  Already 
the  people  of  Texas  had  discovered  the  cause  and  were  pro 
moting  the  establishment  of  a  "Pan-American  College  of 
Commerce."  These  matters  would  become  a  subject  of  inter 
esting  research  and  study  for  the  young  "politician." 

^'hat  meant  the  increased  investment  of  northern  and  east 
ern  money  in  new  business  enterprises,  in  new  and  perma 
nent  developments,  and  in  various  lines  of  trade  and  busi 
ness  ?  It  meant  something,  and  young  Marchand  would  ferret 
out  the  meaning.  He  would  awake  from  the  dreams  of  the 
past,  buckle  on  his  armor,  and  stride  out  over  the  busy  world 
like  a  great  Goliath.  He  would  not  be  a  laggard  in  the 
performance  of  the  duties  that  devolved  upon  him,  whether 
they  be  official  or  private  duties.  In  the  new  life  that  was 
now  dawning  upon  him  he  beheld  visions  of  a  great,  throb 
bing,  pulsing  theater  of  action,  in  which  he  had,  theretofore, 
played  but  a  small  part.  Not  so  for  the  future.  A  new  day 
had  dawned  upon  him.  The  instability  of  youth  was  suc 
ceeded  by  the  strength  and  soberness  of  manhood.  The  day 
of  insecurity  and  instability  had  passed.  With  the  strength 
of  a  Sampson  he  would  burst  his  fetters  and  be  a  free  man. 
The  awakening  had  come. 


121 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XV. 
OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY. 

The  machinery  of  the  City  Attorney's  office  now  began  to 
run  briskly  and,  albeit,  more  smoothly.  The  office  force 
became  aware,  without  being  told,  that  thenceforward  there 
would  be  no  lagging  nor  holding  back,  but  that  the  office 
would  be  run  on  business  principles. 

Walter  Marchand  was  the  same  genial,  affable,  pleasant 
fellow  as  before,  but  firm.  He  did  not  assume  an  arro 
gant  nor  over  important  mein,  as  the  chief  and  head  of  the 
department,  but  it  was  generally  understood  that  he  intended 
to  hold  the  reins  in  his  own  hands  and  do  the  driving.  That 
was  necessary  in  order  to  prevent  accidents  and  side  excur 
sions.  He  had  not  only  the  business  of  his  office  to  care 
for,  but  the  ill-feeling  of  some  of  the  city  officials  to  contend 
with.  They  were  of  the  old  factions,  and  he  expected  them 
to  obstruct  the  business  of  the  legal  department,  if  possible. 
He  was  not  far  wrong  in  his  surmises.  He  was  an  interloper, 
according  to  the  opinion  of  the  official  ring,  and  his  official 
path  should  be  made  as  rough  as  possible.  Again,  his  ene 
mies  reasoned  without  their  host.  They  misjudged  their 
man.  They  trod  upon  dangerous  ground.  They  camped 
over  a  mine  of  explosives. 

All  was  quiet  "along  the  Potomac"  now,  but  there  was 

122 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

a  storm  brewing.  It  would,  sooner  or  later,  burst  over  the 
city  in  all  its  fury,  leaving  a  trail  of  political  wrecks  in  its 
wake.  The  "storm  king"  was  already  growling  in  his  lair, 
but  he  would,  later,  arouse  himself,  stretch  his  loins,  and 
stalk  forth  with  a  bellow  and  roar,  that  would  cause  the 
very  foundations  of  the  city  to  rock  and  tremble.  The  pre 
ceding  calm  was  on  now.  The  elements  had  not  gathered 
their  full  quota  of  storm  substance,  but  the  barometer  was 
marking  the  effect.  The  knowing  ones,  only,  could  read 
the  barometer  aright.  They,  and  they  only,  knew  that  the 
oncoming  gale  would  sweep  the  decks  and  shatter  the  rotten 
timbers  of  the  old  ship  of  state. 

It  was  not  strange,  at  least  Marchand  did  not  think  it 
strange,  that  some  of  his  colleagues  in  office,  whom  he  knew 
were  his  bitter  enemies,  should  suddenly  become  solicitous 
about  the  city's  welfare.  They  had  heard,  no  doubt,  the  low 
rumbling  of  the  storm  in  the  distance.  He  treated  them 
with  official  courtesy,  but  would  not  kiss  their  hands.  Their 
fawning  around  him  failed  to  win  his  "good  graces."  They 
had  bad  tbeir  day,  and  he  proposed  to  have  his,  but  he  made 
no  such  announcement,  as  yet.  It  had  not  reached  that  stage. 

The  finances  of  the  city  were  in  bad  shape.  The  city 
was  hopelessly  embarrassed,  and  its  script  was  hawked  about 
the  streets,  barely  bringing  fifty  cents  on  the  dollar.  The 
city  laborers  and  employes  were  on  the  verge  of  despair. 
The  Mayor  and  Council  could  offer  no  relief,  except  to 
officially  demand  of  the  City  Attorney  that  the  back  tax 
suits  be  vigorously  reduced  to  available  assets.  The  blame 
rested  upon  the  legal  department.  The  City  Attorney  was 
not  unprepared  for  this  move  on  the  part  of  the  ring.  He 
expected  it  and  was  waiting  for  it.  He  did  not  openly  resent 

123 


NORKOMA 

the  unjust  accusations.  He  acted,  however,  and  acted 
promptly.  He  demanded  of  the  City  Tax  Collector  a  cor 
rect  and  duly  certified  statement  of  all  back  taxes  due  to 
the  city  by  the  Mayor  and  each  of  the  aldermen.  It  was 
refused  by  that  worthy  official.  He  knew  it  would  be,  but 
he  was  prepared  for  that  emergency.  The  books  had  been 
quietly  examined  by  his  deputy  and  a  transcript  duly  pre 
pared,  except  it  lacked  the  signature  of  the  collector.  These 
transcripts  were  presented  for  official  certificate,  but  the 
officer  again  refused.  That  also  was  expected,  but  the  legal 
department  was  not  at  its  wits  end.  There  was  a  remedy. 

The  council  was  to  convene  in  regular  session  the  follow 
ing  day  and  it  had  been  noised  about  that  it  would  likely 
take  some  action  with  relation  to  the  "dilatory  tactics  of 
the  legal  department."  The  Daily  Trumpet  never  failed  to 
cast  insinuations  at,  and  try  to  belittle  the  legal  depart 
ment.  The  Daily  Trumpet  "hoped  the  council  would  employ 
a  lawyer  to  help  run  the  legal  department."  The  Daily 
Clarion,  after  the  election,  concluded  to  choose  the  saner 
part,  and  it  tuned  its  notes  to  a  more  harmonious  key.  The 
Daily  Telegram  had  little  to  say  of  the  municipal  situation. 
It  was  watching  the  brewing  of  the  storm. 

The  council  convened,  and  the  chamber  and  galleries  were 
filled  with  eager  spectators,  mostly  of  the  friends  of  the 
old  factions.  The  proceedings  ran  smoothly  through  the 
opening  routine  ceremonies,  until  the  various  "reports"  by 
the  several  committees  and  departments  had  been  heard. 

"Any  further  reports?"  asked  the  Mayor. 

"No  other  reports  on  my  desk,"  responded  the  clerk. 

"Is  it  not  about  time  the  City  Attorney  made  a  report  on 

124 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

the  back  tax  suits?"  said  the  Mayor,  turning  to  Marchand, 
then  added,  in  a  rather  sneering  manner : 

"We've  been  waiting  on  you  a  long  time  to  push  the  back 
tax  cases,  and  this  Council  will  have  to  take  some  kind  of 
action,  I  reckon." 

Walter  Marchand  respectfully  addressed  the  Honorable 
Mayor  and  Council,  stating  that  he  was  ready  to  make  report 
of  his  progress,  but  he  preferred  to  report  verbally,  if  per 
mitted  by  the  honorable  body. 

"We  don't  want  verbal  reports  here,  we  want  written  re 
ports  so  that  they  may  be  made  a  matter  of  record,"  returned 
the  Ma}ror. 

Alderman  Jones  of  the  Third  Ward  quickly  arose,  and 
suggested  that  a  verbal  report  on  progress  always  had  been 
the  rule  in  the  Council,  and  that  he  could  not  understand 
why  that  rule  should  not  apply  in  this  case. 

"I  beg  j-our  pardon,  gentlemen,''  interjected  Marchand. 
"I  have  a  written  report,  but  I  merely  asked  your  kind  in 
dulgence  that  I  might  state  it  verbally  with  explanation,  and 
perhaps  some  embellishments.  It  may  be  some  of  you  will 
desire  to  ask  questions,  and  I  can  the  more  readily  answer 
them.  Besides,  as  you  will  observe,  the  report  is  quite  lengthy 
as  it  contains  the  description  of  property,  the  amount  of  back 
taxes  due,  and  the  names  of  the  debtors." 

"Now,  I  move  that  the  gentleman  be  permitted  to  report 
verbally,"  said  Alderman  Jones.  The  motion  was  seconded 
by  Alderman  Smith  of  the  Seventh,  and  upon  vote  was  car 
ried. 

"Now,  I  reckon  you  can  proceed,  since  it  appears  to  suit 
the  Council  best,"  said  the  Mayor,  petulantly. 

"I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  and  assure  you  that  I  greatly 

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appreciate  the  courtesy,"  said  Walter  in  his  usual  pleasant 
and  courtly  manner,  while  a  ripple  of  applause  ran  along  the 
gallery. 

"My  report  is  prefaced,"  said  Walter,  "with  a  statement 
of  the  condition  in  which  I  found  the  tax  suit  docket  .when 
I  assumed  the  duties  of  the  office,  and  may  be  explained 
thus : 

"Seven  thousand  and  ninety  suits  had  been  filed  by  my 
predecessors,  and  of  that  number  eight  hundred  judgments 
had  been  rendered,  and  two  hundred  and  seven  executions 
had  been  issued  under  those  judgments,  while  but  seventy- 
three  of  those  executions  were  ever  made  effective  by  either 
voluntary  payment  a/id  satisfaction  of  the  judgment,  or  by 
sale  of  the  property  thereunder.  You  may  have  observed  that 
two  dollars  is  allowed,  by  the  ordinance,  for  the  filing  of 
each  suit,  and  one  per  cent  additional  is  allowed  upon  the 
face  value  of  each  judgment,  as  the  attorney  fee. 

"The  average  amount  sued  for  in  these  cases  is  eight 
dollars  and  eleven  cents,  including  penalties,  interest  and 
costs  of  advertising,  which  would  indicate  that  only  the 
small  property  owner  had  been  Hauled  up  into  court." 

At  this  juncture  a  very  decided  and  vigorous  applause  ran 
along  the  galleries  and  dropped  down  among  the  visitors  on 
the  main  floor.  A  sense  of  uneasiness  seemed  to  possess 
the  Mayor  and  several  of  the  aldermen. 

"I  don't  see  what  all  that  history  has  got  to  do  with 
your  duties  as  the  chief  of  the  legal  department.  Let  us 
have  what  you  are  doing.  That  is  what  we  want  to  know," 
snarled  the  Mayor,  as  he  twisted  in  his  executive  chair. 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Walter  in  a  mild  and  pleasant 
voice.  "I  am  coming  to  that  part  of  the  report  now,  with 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

the  exception  of  one  other  feature.  Of  the  seventy-three 
effective  executions,  forty-seven  ejections  from  homes  were 
had.  I  have  here  the  names  of  those  who  were  ejected,  and, 
as  a  matter  of  history,  I  will  read  them  if  this  honorable 
body  desires." 

"We  don't  want  them  read.  We  don't  care  anything  about 
them.  What  we  want  is  money  to  run  the  government  and 
pay  off  the  poor  city  laborers/'  roared  the  Mayor,  which 
was  followed  by  a  shadow  of  applause  out  in  the  hallway,  with 
a  feeble  shout  of  "Dat's  de  stuff!  Hurrah  for  de  Mayor!" 

"Very  well,"  returned  Walter,  "I  will  omit  reading  the 
names  as  you  prefer,  and  simply  add,  that  oT  the  forty-seven 
ejected  families,  nineteen  of  them  were  widows,  and  thirteen 
are  now"  in  almshouses  and  upon  public  charity  at  an  aver 
age  yearly  expense  to  the  city  of  eighty-seven  dollars,  each, 
or  a  total  of  eleven  hundred  and  thirty-one  dollars,  while  the 
total  tax  collected  from  the  sale  of  their  houses  amounted  to 
one  hundred  and  four  dollars,  from  which,  if  you  deduct 
costs,  fees,  etc.,  will  leave  to  the  city  about  sixty-nine  dol 
lars.  This  amount,  deducted  from  the  annual  cost  of  sus 
taining  the  paupers  thereby  created,  leaves  an  annual  loss 
to  the  city,  by  the  transaction,  of  one  thousand  and  sixty- 
two  dollars,  to  say  nothing  of  broken  hearts  and  ruined 
lives,  through  this  unwarranted  and  cruel  proceeding.  T 
now  come  to — " 

The  speaker  was  interrupted,  and  his  voice  drowned  by 
the  roar  of  applause  in  all  parts  of  the  room,  except  that 
portion  within  the  railing  which  was  set  apart  for  the  Coun 
cil.  There  was  no  applause  in  that  portion — it  was  as  quiet 
as  an  injured  husband,  except  for  the  squeaking  of  the  alder- 

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manic  chairs  as  some  of  the  occupants    thereof    nervously 
swung  back  and  forth. 

The  Mayor  rapped  for  order  with  his  gavel,  and  the  ap 
plause  increased  in  volume.  That  enraged  the  Municipal 
Chief.  It  also  enraged  one  or  two  of 'the  aldermen  who 
yelled  for  recognition  by  the  Mayor.  They  wanted  to  try 
their  hand  at  speech-making.  The  Mayor,  filled  with  vexa 
tion,  unable  to  restore  order,  recognized  both  of  the  anxious 
aldermen,  but  the  audience  did  not.  The  Council  was  about 
to  dissolve  when  Walter  raised  his  hand  in  an  appeal  for 
silence,  and  the  storm  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  done  in 
the  opera  house  at  his  command. 

The  Mayor,  after  lecturing  the  visitors,  and  warning  them 
that  another  demonstration  of  that  character  would  result 
in  their  ejection  from  the  room,  then  turned  in  rage  upon 
the  young  attorney,  and  said: 

"You  must  understand,  sir,  that  this  is  no  place  for 
moralists  and  preachers  to  whine  and  whimper  about  poor 
widows  and  beggars.  We  are  here  for  business.  Now  if 
you  have  done  anything  for  the  city,  out  with  it — tell  us 
about  it,  but  don't  attempt  any  more  of  this  tommy  rot,  for 
we  shall  not  submit  to  it.  Now  proceed,  if  you  have  any 
thing." 

"I  greatly  appreciate  this  marked  generosity  on  the  part 
of  the  Executive  and  the  Council,"  said  Walter  calmly,  hi« 
face  white  with  suppressed  anger,  "and  as  I  shall  not  allow 
any  contemptuous  conduct  on  the  part  of  others,  either 
through  fear,  or  for  the  purpose  of  punishment,  to  distract 
me  in  my  present  duty,  I  will  now  proceed.  I  was  about 
to  say,  when  interrupted,  that  no  tax  suits  against  poor  people 
for  dribbles  or  small  amounts  would  be  filed  by  my  office 

123 


"I'LL  SUE  HIM   TOMORROW   FOR  THAT  MONEY. 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

until  the  more  wealthy,  and  the  large  property  owners  had 
either  rendered  justice  to  the  city  or  had  been  compelled  so 
to  do.  More  than  that,  as  the  city  fathers  should  hold  them 
selves  before  the  public  as  examples,  each  of  them  should 
pay  his  just  debts  to  the  city  before  forcing  others  to  do 
so.'" 

"We  are  not  asking  you  for  advice,  nor  a  moral  lecture, 
Mr.  City  Attorney,"  roared  the  Mayor. 

"I  understand,  Mr.  Mayor,"  quickly  retorted  Walter,  '*but 
from  now  on  it  will  not  be  what  you  may  ask  for,  but  what 
is  right  and  just  before  God  and  man,  that  shall  govern  my 
official  conduct.  I  do  not  want  to  do  an  injustice  to  any 
person,  and  the  way  to  do  that  is  to  do  exact  justice  to  every 
body.  It  is  but  just  and  right  that  the  official  fathers  of 
this  city  should  pay  their  back  taxes — every  cent,  and  I  shall 
see  that  they  do  it." 

"Oh,  you  oan't  get  a  proper  statement  from  the  collector," 
squeaked  the  little,  frizzly-bearded,  bean-eyed  alderman  from 
the  Eighth  Ward,  whose  father  was  rated  at  a  half  million 
dollars,  but  whose  assessed  values  were  something  like  nine 
teen  thousand.  "No,  sir;  you  can't  get  it,  and  of  course,  you 
can't  sue  us." 

Hisses  were  heard  in  the  galleries,  the  Mayor  rapped  for 
order,  and  the  bean-eyed  alderman  from  the  Eighth  Ward 
crouched  down  in  his  chair  and  chuckled  to  himself,  while 
Walter  ignored  the  remarks  and  proceeded : 

"And  now,  I  come  to  that  part  of  my  report  which  indi 
cates  the  course  I  intend  to  pursue,  and  the  way  I  am  doing 
it.  I  find  that  there  is  due  to  this  city,  in  back  taxes,  a 
sum  estimated  to  be  four  hundred  and  sixteen  thousand 
dollars.  The  amount  heretofore  sued  for  by  the  seventy- 

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NORKOMA 

five  hundred  suits,  is  sixty  thousand  dollars,  leaving  a  bal 
ance  of  three  hundred  and  fifty-six  thousand  dollars  for 
which  suit  is  to  be  brought.  It  is  estimated  that  a  less  num 
ber  of  suits  will  be  required  to  collect  this  large  balance  than 
have  heretofore  been  instituted  for  the  small  sum  named. 

"  I  have  begun  this  work  by  filing  suits  against  those  per 
sons  who  hold  high  offices  in  this  city  government.  Even 
now,  the  deputy  sheriff  is  at  the  door  of  this  chamber  for 
the  purpose  of  serving  citation  upon  those  of  our  honorable 
official  family  who  owe  to  this  city,  in  back  taxes,  an  aggre 
gate  amount  of  twenty-nine  thousand,  six  hundred  dol 
lars — or  more  than  sufficient  to  pay  the  'poor  city  laborers/ 
as  suggested  by  our  Mayor,  one  hundred  cents  on  the  dollar 
for  their  hard  earned  wages.  I  hereby  respectfully  submit  my 
written  report  and  ask  that  it  be  filed,  as  a  'matter  of  record/ 
and  in  the  mean  time  I  trust  you  will  give  it  due  considera 
tion." 

The  closing  announcements  of  the  City  Attorney  were  re 
ceived  by  the  visitors  and  spectators  with  a  storm  of  ap 
plause.  It  fell  upon  the  ears  of  the  city  fathers  like  a 
deafening  peal  of  thunder.  As  Walter  Marchand  handed 
the  written  report  to  the  City  Secretary,  or  clerk  of  the  Coun 
cil,  and  calmly  took  his  seat,  he  felt  that  he  did  so  under 
the  scorching  glare  of  his  official  brethren.  He  knew  that 
most  of  them  hated  him  with  a  keen,  cutting,  malicious 
hatred,  the  twin  sister  to  murder,  but  that  did  not  daunt  his 
courage.  He  crossed  his  legs  carelessly,  drew  a  cigar  from 
his  vest  pocket,  clipped  the  end  off  with  a  pair  of  clippers, 
lighted  it  carelessly,  and  twirled  the  burning  match  away, 
as  though  he  were  at  a  base  ball  game.  The  burning  match 
fell  upon  the  floor  near  the  feet  of  the  Mayor,  The  Mayor 

130 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

kicked  hatefully  at  the  match  and  uttered  an  ugly  grunt, 
something  similar  to  an  undomesticated  '  Arkansas  "razor- 
back."  The  audience  tittered  and  giggled.  That  angered 
the  Mayor, 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Walter  Marchand. 

"My  pardon  be  damned,"  roared  the  Mayor,  and  he  jumped 
to  his  feet,  gavel  raised,  which  he  brought  down  upon  the 
desk  with  a  crash  that  splintered  the  little  mallet,  as  he  pro 
claimed  : 

"This  Council  is  adjourned,  and  you  can  all  go  home." 

Joe  Butler  was  instantly  by  the  side  of  his  friend  Walter, 
and,  thought  not  heard,  was  seen  to  take  him  by  the  arm 
as  if  requesting  him  to  retire.  They  did  retire,  but  it  was 
by  walking  right  down  through  the  Council  chamber,  eyeing 
each  alderman  as  they  went,  in  a  fearless,  unconcerned 
manner.  As  they  came  to  the  door  they  met  the  deputy 
sheriff  with  his  hands  full  of  citations  in  suits  against  the 
city  fathers  for  back  taxes. 

"Shall  I  serve  these  citations  now,  Mr.  Marchand?" 
queried  the  officer. 

"Certainly,  and  if  you  need  help,  I  will  be  glad  to  aid 
you,"  returned  Walter,  while  Joe  Butler  tugged  at  the  strong 
young  man's  arm. 

"No,  thank  you.  I  can  manage  the  affair  all  right,"  re 
plied  the  deputy.  As  the  two  friends  stepped  dovm  upon 
the  street,  Butler  remarked  : 

"You've  played  the  very  old  mischief,  Walter." 

"How  is  that,  Joe?" 

"Why,  confound  it,  you  have  now  got  every  one  of  those 
c-ity  officials  to  fight,  and  they  will  fight  you  hard,  too. 

131 


NORKOMA 

They  will  throw  every  obstruction,  possible,  in  the  way  of 
your  official  success." 

"Well,  have  they  not  been  doing  that  for  a  year,  or  ever 
since  I  took  charge  of  the  office?  Have  they  not  combined 
to  lay  all  sorts  of  blame  upon  me?  I  had  nothing  to  gain 
by  peaceable  means.  Besides,  I've  got  my  duty  to  perform, 
and  I  intend  to  do  it." 

"That  is  all  right  about  your  duty,  but  there  are  several 
ways  to  do  that.  Besides,  if  you  carry  out  your  plans,  sev 
eral  of  the  stockholders  of  my  company,  one  of  them  espe 
cially,  will  lose  ten  thousand  dollars." 

"How  is  that,  Joe?" 

"Why,  dad  burn  it,  he  owes  the  city  that  amount  in  back 
taxes,  and  more,  too." 

"Who  is  it — whom  do  you  mean?" 

"Why,  John  Fletcher,  of  course.  He  is  the  president  of 
my  company." 

"All  right,  I'll  sue  him  tomorrow  for  that  money." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind.    You  are  going  crazy." 

"You  are  mistaken.  I'm  just  going  sane.  It  Pletcher  owes 
this  debt  to  the  city  and  does  not  pay,  it  becomes  my  duty 
to  bring  suit  against  him." 

"But,  Walter,  do  you  remember  what  the  Telegram  and 
Mr.  Pletcher  did  for  you  in  your  election?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do.  They  helped  to  elect  me.  I  was 
running  on  a  platform  of  ^honest  government.'  It  was  my 
platform  which  the  people  voted  for,  not  me.  If  Pletcher 
and  the  Telegram  wanted  honest  government  then,  why 
'crawfish'  now?  ISTo,  sir;  I  intend  to  make  Pletcher  toe  the 
mark." 

"If  you  can  not  appreciate  his  services,  can  you  not  rec- 


OFFICIAL  INTEGRITY 

ognize  my  friendship?  We  have  always  been  friends — were 
'college  chums.'  Have  I  no  claim  upon  our  friendship?'' 

"Certainly.  But  if,  by  that,  you  mean  that  our  friendship 
shall  sway  me  one  iota  from  the  faithful  discharge  of  my 
official  duty,  you  have  calculated  by  the  wrong  rule." 

"But,  friend  Walter,  you  will  place  yourself  and  your 
father  in  an  unenviable  light  before  the  people  if  you  pur 
sue  this  policy." 

"How  is  that?' 

"Well,  your  father  owes  several  hundred  dollars  back 
taxes." 

"How  do  you  know  he  does?" 

"Because,  I've  investigated  the  books  and  found  it  so." 

"Well,  if  that  is  so,  he  must  be  among  the  very  first  ones 
to  pay  up.  If  he  does  not  do  so  voluntarily,  I  shall  file  suit 
against  him." 

"Would  you  be  so  insanely  honest  as  to  do  a  thing  like 
that?" 

"I  should  be  sanely  dishonest  if  I  did  not  do  just  that 
very  thing." 

"Walter  Marchand,  you  are  wholly  incorrigible,  and  I  give 
you  over.  I  think  after  you  have  a  talk  with  your  father 
and  sister,  you  may  possibly  see  wherein  you  are  rapidly 
'going  to  the  bad.' '; 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  Joe,  you  must  go  with  me  to  dinner. 
I  faithfully  promised  Edith  that  I  would  bring  you  this 
evening,  and  they  will  expect  you." 

"It  is  very  kind  of  you,  I  am  sure,  but — 

"But  nothing — no  excuses  today,  please.  I  will  drop  by 
your  office  on  my  way  home  and  pick  you  up.  So  long." 

"Adios." 

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CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  HOLY  INSPIRATION. 

Though  warm  friends,  and  very  closely  in  touch  with  each 
other  in  business  and  political  matters,  Joe  Butler  and 
Walter  Marchand  had  devoted  themselves  but  little  to  social 
pleasures.  At  least  Butler  had  not  been  as  frequent  a  visitor 
at  "The  Cedars"  as  one  would  have  surmised.  Of  course, 
he  was  a  friend  of  the  family,  and  had  occasionally  been  an 
invited  guest,  courteously  received  and  royally  entertained, 
but  that  was  all.  True,  he  had,  on  several  occasions,  joined 
Walter  and  Edith  at  theater  parties  and  social  functions,  but 
that  was  no  greater  pleasure  than  other  young  men  enjoyed. 

Butler  was  an  energetic,  industrious  man,  always  appar 
ently  engaged  or  absorbed  with  his  business  affairs,  yet  he  was, 
withal,  of  a  social  turn  and  greatly  enjoyed  the  society  of 
his  friends.  He  was  an  ardent  but  silent  admirer  of  Edith 
Marchand.  He  was  aware  of  the  constancy  of  the  affection 
between  brother  and  sister,  and  was  equally  cognizant  that  it 
was  an  unordinary  affair.  To  Joe  Butler  it  was  a  mystery, 
but  not  more  so  to  him  than  it  was  to  other  equally  close 
friends  of  the  family. 

Butler  may  have  imagined  that  his  friend  Walter  was  not 
overly  anxious  that  Edith  should  encourage  any  particular 
feeling  of  friendship  that,  perchance,  might  arise  among  her 

134 


A  HOLY  INSPIRATION 

friends  for  her.  Not  that  there  had  occurred  any  such  man 
ifestation,  but  it  might  be  expected  that,,  with  such  con 
stant  companions,  such  "college  chums,"  such  close  business 
and  political  friends,  there  would  have  been  a  closer,  social 
intimacy  between  Butler  and  the  other  members  of  Walter 
Marchand's  family.  These  chance  suggestions  presented 
themselves  to  Butler  as  rambling  thoughts,  and  for  the 
moment  left  a  tinge  of  bitterness.  But  it  passed  away  as 
Walter  Marchand  entered  Butler's  office  and  jovially  ex 
claimed  : 

''Come  on,  old  boy;  Edith  is  waiting  in  the  carriage  for 
us.  We  will  go  with  her." 

"All  right,  Walt.  I  guess  there  is  nothing  for  me  to  do 
but  come  along,  even  though  I'm  in  mighty  poor  attire.  Sup 
pose  you  and  Miss  Edith  precede  me,  and  I  will  go  by  my 
room  and  'make  up'  a  little." 

"We'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Your  apparel  is  better  than 
my  own,  besides,  this  is  to  be  no  swell  social  affair — just  a 
little  home  party,  and  you  the  only  guest.  Come,"  and  tak 
ing  Butler  by  the  arm  enforced  his  command  in  a  friendly 
manner.  Of  course,  Edith  was  delighted  to  have  Butler 
with  them,  so  she  said,  and  Edith  never  prevaricated,  not 
even  for  "social"  purposes.  The  trio  of  friends  talked  and 
laughed  on  their  way  to  "The  Cedars"  with  such  jolly 
good  fellowship  and  abandon,  that  whatever  restraint  Butler 
may  have  theretofore  felt  or  manifested  had  now  disap 
peared. 

The  Marchands  were  a  hospitable  family.  Edith  was  a 
queenly  entertainer,  but  not  more  so  than  was  Mrs.  Mar 
chand.  They  had  the  happy  faculty  of  making  their  guests 
feel  perfectly  welcome,  perfectly  at  home.  That  was  be- 

135 


NORKOMA 

cause  there  was  no  undercurrent  of  formal  insincerity  nor 
upper  layer  of  mock  sincerity.  Their  guests  basked  in 
the  warm  sunshine  of  honest  good  fellowship.  If  unwel 
come  guests,  and  that  seldom  occurred,  they  were  not  regaled 
with  the  usual,  "Simply  delighted/'  "Glad  you  called," 
"Charmed  with  your  company,"  and  other  apparently  nec 
essary  "social  extravaganzas." 

Butler  was  a  welcome  guest,  and,  if  he  had  ever  ventured 
a  doubt  upon  that  fact  in  the  past,  he  now  felt  assured  of 
his  status.  He  had  often  felt  that  lean,  lank,  hungering 
desire  for  the  comforts  of  a  home  and  loved  ones.  Never 
before  had  he  felt  it  so  intensely  as  now.  Poor  devil!  He 
was  adrift  upon  life's  tempestuous  sea,  with  none  to  love  him 
for  his  noble  worth;  without  a  tender  hand  to  temper  his 
fevered  brow;  without  a  gentle  voice  to  soothe  his  aching 
brain;  without  a  loving  soul  to  join  with  his  in  sweet  com 
mune. 

To  him,  how  charming,  how  sweet,  how  beautiful,  how 
godly  were  the  gentle  words  and  the  queenly  movements  of 
Edith  and  Mrs.  Marchand  in  that  dear  old  home  on  this 
occasion.  What  exchange  price  would  he  have  offered, 
were  the  world  his  own  to  give,  for  a  permanent 
place  in  that  happy,  peaceful,  contented  family.  No  amount 
of  money,  no  degree  of  self-sacrifice  would  be  too  great  a 
compensation.  There  had  been  days  when  he  knew  the 
peace  and  tranquility  of  home  and  loved  ones.  He  had  tasted 
the  sweet  nectar  of  a  wife's  ruby  lips.  His  ears  had  tingled 
with  a.  child's  simple  prattle.  His  soul  had  leaped  at  the 
tiny  lisping  of  a  babe's  "pa,  pa."  But  that  was  all  no  more, 
forever.  The  sweet  nectar  had  passed,  the  simple  prattle  had 
ceased,  the  tiny  lispings  were  dumb.  The  cruel  grave  had 

136 


A  HOLY  INSPIRATION 

swallowed  all,  and  with  it  all,  the  heart,  the  life,  the  soul  of 
Joe  Butler. 

But  he  would  not  let  his  poignant  sorrow  cast  an  outward 
reflection  of  the  raging  storm  within.  That  would  not  do. 
The  world  should  not  know.  It  should  not  mock  at  his  grief 
nor  rejoice  at  his  sorrow,  if  indeed,  such  were  the  possibil 
ities.  Bright  must  be  his  days,  joyful  his  nights,  so  far 
as  the  world  was  concerned.  And  so,  Joe  Butler  made  his 
life  appear,  but  he  did  it  under  the  stress  of  daily  renewed 
resolutions. 

jSTo  one  of  the  little  quintette  was  apparently  more  gay  or 
lively  on  the  occasion  in  question  than  was  the  guest,  Joe 
Butler.  He  parried  and  sallied  in  the  duel  of  wit,  as  grace 
fully  as  a  French  nobleman  wields  the  sword  in  defense  of 
honor.  He  advanced  and  retreated,  in  the  battle  of  mirth,  as 
strategically  as  a  column  of  infantry  under  the  direction  of 
an  experienced  commander.  Socially,  he  was  interesting; 
mentally,  he  was  inspiring.  As  the  evening  faded  into  night, 
the  conversation  and  discussion  drifted  from  one  subject  to 
another,  until  music,  nature,  books,  authors,  men,  and  other 
matters  had  received  their  just  share  of  comment  and  criti 
cism.  And  finally,  by  the  mysterious  hand  of  that  mis 
tress,  the  "Association  of  Thought  and  Idea,"  the  little  party 
was  unconsciously  led  to  the  discussion  of  governmental  af 
fairs  which,  in  common  parlance,  is  usually  termed  "politics." 
In  that,  Joe  Butler  was  equally  at  home.  Walter's  experi 
ence  of  more  than  a  year  had  certainly  elevated  him  above 
the  ranks  of  the  novice,  while  Mr.  Marchand  was  the  "sage"' 
of  the  little  party,  though  mostly  silent.  Edith  and  Mrs. 
Marchand  were  the  novices,  though  anxious  pupils  in  the 
science.  After  some  discussion  between  Walter  and  Butler 

137 


on  the  "general  principles"  of  government,  Edith  inter 
rupted  their  dialogue  by  saying: 

"Why  do  you  not  come  down  to  the  plane  of  current  local 
politics,  that  all  of  us  may  understand.  These  high  sound 
ing  terms  which  you  two  gentlemen  have  been  employing 
make  it  difficult  for  us  women  to  understand,  and  of  course 
you  know  a  woman  is  always  interested  in  the  affairs  of  her 
friends,  even  though  they  be  political  affairs." 

"Or  political  friends  ?"  queried  Butler." 

"Oh,  yes,  most  certainly,"  returned  Edith,  "including  the 
friends  of  political  relatives." 

"Now,  Butler,  that  will  hold  you  for  a  while,"  exclaimed 
Walter,  laughingly. 

"Speaking  of  political  friends,"  said  Butler,  "I  am  some 
times  constrained  to  think  that  the  term  is  a  misnomer.  That 
as  a  rule  in  politics,  there  exists  no  such  thing  as  political 
friendship." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Butler,  how  can  you  say  that,  when  you  witnessed 
the  rousing  demonstration  of  the  people,  and  the  magnificent 
majority  they  gave  brother  Walter  in  his  race,"  said  Edith. 

"Walter  reminded  me  this  evening  that  it  was  not  him 
self,  personally,  but  his  platform  of  honest  government 
that  the  people  battled  for,  and  I  have  about  concluded  he  is 
right." 

"Well,  but  did  not  his  opponent  shout  Tionest  govern 
ment'  also,  and  he  was  defeated.  Certainly  the  friends  that 
so  strongly  supported  Walter  in  his  election  are  still,  and 
will  continue  to  be  his  friends,  so  long  as  he  does  his  duty." 

"I  am  very  doubtful  whether  all  of  them  may  be  depended 
upon.  You  see  so  many  people  have  grown  to  believe  that,  if 
they  do  anything  to  help  elect  a  man  to  office,  they  thereafter 

138 


have  a  claim  of  some  kind  or  other  upon  him,  and  frequently 
the  occasion  arises  that  their  supposed  claim  on  his  friendship 
is  pressed.  Sometimes  the  claim  can  be  conscientiously  rec 
ognized  by  the  officer,  without  the  betrayal  of  a  trust,  and 
sometimes  it  can  not.  If  the  officer,  whether  conscientiously 
or  otherwise,  does  not  grant  the  favor,  he  has  thereby  made 
a  political  enemy." 

"Taking  the  last  phrase  of  your  statement,  'political  ene 
my,'  contradicts  your  first  proposition,  for  it  must  find  its 
opposite  in  the  'political  friend/ "  rejoined  Edith,  inter 
estedly. 

"Of  course,  Miss  Edith,  every  rule  has  its  exception;  even 
vice,  its  counterpart;  and  every  virtue,  its  opposite.  But  in 
politics  you  can  not  as  a  rule  include  the  virtue  or  char 
acteristic  of  constancy.  The  political  friend  of  today  has 
combined  with  the  opposition  tomorrow.  It  may  be  for 
selfish  reasons  only,  and  selfish  reasons  may  mean  a  thousand 
different  things." 

"Pardon  me  for  the  interruption,"  said  Mr.  Marchand,  who 
had  just  been  in  conversation  with  some  one  over  the  tele 
phone,  "but  Mr.  Fletcher  would  like  to  speak  with  Mr.  But 
ler  for  a  moment." 

During  the  time  Butler  was  at  the  'phone,  the  conversa 
tion  consisted  of  brief  expressions  and  argument,  pro  and 
con,  over  the  discussion  just  had  on  the  question  of  political 
constancy.  Upon  Butler's  return,  Walter  suggested: 

"I  trust  your  friend  has  not  grown  restless  over  the  back 
tax  situation,  Butler." 

"No,  not  exactly  restless,  but  he  would  like  a  consultation 
with  us  in  the  morning,  if  you  can  arrange  your  affairs  to 
give  us  the  time. 

139 


NORKOMA 

"Why,  certainly ,  I'll  be  glad  to  do  so." 

"What  is  all  this  trouble  about  the  back  taxes,  anyway,  Mr. 
Butler?  I  do  not  understand  it,"  said  Edith. 

"Well,  as  I  understand,  a  great  many  people  have,  through 
one  cause  or  another,  failed  to  pay  their  taxes  for  years  and 
years.  Some  of  them  failed  to  assess  a  part,  or  all  of  their 
property,  from  time  to  time,  and  naturally  the  taxes  were 
not  regularly  paid,  leaving  a  large  total  amount  of  taxes 
now  due  the  city  for  those  years,  extending  back  for  the 
last  quarter  of  a  century." 

"Why  did  not  the  city  officers  collect  those  taxes  year  by 
year  as  they  fell  due  instead  of  letting  it  drag  along  in  that 
manner?"  queried  Edith. 

"I  do  not  know,"  answered  Butler,  "but  perhaps  Mr.  Mar- 
chand  does,  he  having  lived  here  all  the  time." 

"Well,"  began  the  sage  of  the  little  party,  "there  are 
several  reasons  that  might  be  assigned  for  the  apparent  laxity 
in  the  collection  of  the  taxes  during  those  years.  You  will 
readily  understand  that  during  the  war  there  was  mighty 
little  effort  or  opportunity  on  the  part  of  our  citizens  to 
maintain  anything  like  a  regular  form  of  city  government, 
except  during  the  prolonged  visit  of  General  Benjamin  But 
ler.  It  has  been  said  since,  that  even  his  efforts  to  maintain 
a  form  of  government  were  not  thoroughly  appreciated  by  our 
people  at  that  time.  My  impression  is,  however,  that  his  hav 
ing  thoroughly  renovated  the  city  of  filth  and  dirt  was,  as  a 
sanitary  measure,  the  greatest  blessing  that  could  have  been 
bestowed.  It  was  also  an  object  lesson  in  the  conduct  of 
municipal  government,  but  a  lesson  which  seems,  likewise, 
not  to  have  been  appreciated  by  our  people,  since  we  must 

140 


A  HOLY  INSPIRATION 

always  wait  for  frost  to  dispel  our  epidemics  instead  of  pre 
venting  epidemics  by  and  through  sanitary  measures. 

"But  our  people  were  discouraged  by  the  results  of  the 
war,  and  they  were  afterward  called  upon  to  pass  through 
even  greater  struggles  than  the  war  itself.  Consequently, 
they  dragged  along  half  heartedly  for  a  long  period  of  years, 
paying  little  attention  to  local  government,  except  to  see  that 
the  government  itself  was  not  wholly  turned  over  to  an  in 
ferior  and  ignorant  race  of  recently  made  citizens.  So  it  was 
that  in  many  instances  property  was  not  assessed,  and  taxes 
not  collected,  or,  if  done  at  all,  done  in  a  careless  and  neglect 
ful  manner.  In  these  later  years,  with  new  life,  new  hopes, 
new  methods  and  new  inspirations,  we  view  the  past  and  dis 
cover  the  errors  and  irregularities,  but,  to  us  of  the  old  school, 
they  are,  many  of  them,  entirely  excusable." 

"I  had  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way,"  said  Walter,  "I 
can  readily  appreciate  how  the  system  of  laxity  originated 
after  the  war,  but  can  not  find  excuse  for  its  continuation, 
indefinitely.  It  has  swamped  and  killed  all  civic  pride, 
especially  in  those '  who  persist  in  the  practice  of  'dodging 
taxes.'  An  examination,  of  the  records  will  disclose  the  fact 
that  the  extremely  wealthy  citizens  have  been  guilty  of  'tax 
dodging,'  far  in  excess  of  the  less  wealthy.  But  that  is  not 
the  worst  feature  of  this  system  of  official  negligence.  In 
hundreds  of  cases  where  the  records  show  non-payment  of 
taxes,  the  property  owners  hold  good  and  valid  tax  receipts, 
showing  that  they  had  paid  the  taxes." 

"How  can  that  be — how  can  you  account  for  that?"  in 
quired  Edith. 

"Well,  I  don't  account  for  it,"  answered  Walter,  "but  I 
intend  that  the  Grand  Jury  shall  investigate  the  matter.  I 

141 


NORKOMA 

believe  our  mutual  friend,  Mr.  Fletcher,  was  a  former  Tax 
Collector,  was  he  not,  father  ?" 

"Yes,  Mr.  Fletcher  held  that  office  about  ten  years  ago. 
He  was  afterwards  elected  Mayor  and  was  always  considered 
one  of  the  very  best  officers." 

"I  have  in  my  office  some  tax  receipts  signed  by  him  as 
collector,  that " 

"Let  us  not  discuss  the  subject  further  at  this  time,"  inter 
rupted  Mr.  Marchand.  "I  see  it  is  not  interesting  to  our 
lady  folks." 

"Oh,  yes  it  is,  father,"  rejoined  Edith.  "I  like  to  learn 
of  the  means  and  methods  you  men  adopt  to  defeat  the  will 
of  the  people.  It  is  quite  interesting,  I  am  sure,  only  I 
can  not  understand  the  motive  for  it  all." 

"Motive!"  laughingly  exclaimed  Butler.  "Oh,  the  jingling 
of  the  guinea,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  you  selfish,  selfish  men.  And  we  women  have  to  drag 
ourselves  through  mud  and  water,  where  there  ought  to  be 
good  sidewalks,  and  paved  streets,  just  on  account  of  the 
wrongful  management  of  municipal  government  by  you  sor 
did,  selfish  men.  It  is  really  shameful." 

"Certainly  you  are  not  in  earnest,  Edith.  Surely  you 
have  not  taken  the  situation  so  seriously,"  said  Mr.  Marchand. 

"Indeed,  I  am  in  earnest.  I  have  not  overlooked  the 
thrusts  and  cuts  at  brother  Walter  by  those, old  newspapers. 
I've  read  between  the  lines.  There  is  good  cause  for  their 
perturbation  and  fear.  I  do  hope  Walter  will  not  let  up  until 
he  drags  the  old  skeletons  out  to  the  public  gaze." 

"Well,  he  made  a  good  start  at  it  today,"  said  Butler,  "and 

142 


A  HOLY  INSPIRATION 

I  fear  I  shall  have  to  report  it  truthfully  as  it  was,  however 
much  it  would  be  preferable  not  to  do  so." 

"Why  preferable  not  to  report  it,  Mr.  Butler?"  asked 
Edith  with  feeling.  "Is  not  the  Telegram  still  willing  to 
battle  for  honest  government?  Is  not  the  paper,  and  also 
its  manager,  both  friends  of  Walter?  Why,  what  reason  could 
you  now  assign  for  not  aiding  and  assisting  my  brother  in  his 
heroic  struggle  for  honest  government?  Why  should  those 
who  helped  to  elect  him  grow  weary  now,  just  when  his 
labors  are  about  to  bear  fruit?" 

Thus  spoke  Edith,  and  as  she  spoke  the  color  rose  to  her 
cheeks,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  as  they  gazed  into  the  eyes 
of  Joe  Butler. 

He  had  thought  her  sweet  and  beautiful  before,  but,  as  she 
spoke,  her  face,  her  eyes  lit  up  with  the  holy  fires  radiating 
from  within  her  ver}'  soul,  and  she  appeared  to  him  ten 
fold  more  beautiful.  He  saw  her  in  a  new  light.  Before,  he 
felt  her  powerful  influence  over  him.  Now,  he  would  be 
her  slave  forever,  if  she  would  but  ask  it.  For  a  moment, 
Butler  was  bewildered  by  the  brightness,  the  beauty  of  her 
eyes.  He  felt  an  effect  similar  to  the  tingle  of  electricity 
passing  through  his  body,  or  a  poisonous  drug  as  it  rapidly 
courses  through  the  human  veins,  first  to  warm,  then  to  kill. 
It  was  a  pleasant  sensation.  Her  eyes  were  as  magnets  from 
which  he  could  not  turn  away. 

Edith  gazed  steadily  into  the  eyes  of  Butler  as  if  waiting 
for  his  answer.  It  was  only  a  moment's  space  of  time,  but 
it  seemed  an  age  to  him.  Then,  as  if  from  the  effect  of  his 
soul's  awakening,  he  answered : 

"I  am  for  honest  government,  and,  so  long  as  I  shall  man- 

143 


NORKOMA 

age  The  Daily  Telegram,  it  shall  do  loyal  battle  for  honest 
government,  honest  officials  and  honest  citizenship." 

"Thank  God  for  your  noble  manhood,"  exclaimed  Edith 
as  she  extended  her  hand,  which  Butler  grasped  within  his 
own. 

"You  are  a  holy  inspiration  to  a  noble  manhood,"  returned 
Butler  with  choking  voice. 


144 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 


CHAPTER  XVII. 
A  NEW  KECEUIT. 

When  Joe  Butler  departed  from  the  Marchand  home  that 
evening,  he  felt  that  he  had  entered  a  new  world,  a  new  life. 
Many  times  did  he  stop,  turn,  and  intently  gaze  upon  the 
old  homestead  ere  he  had  passed  beyond  the  viewpoint.  Noble 
were  the  emotions  that  filled  his  heart,  his  mind.  His  soul 
was  revived  with  the  hopes  that  voluntarily  sprang  up  with 
in  him,  created,  perhaps,  by  that  prince  of  artists,  imagina 
tion,  as  it  presented  rare  pictures  studded  with  precious 
gems  for  his  hungering  and  famished  vision. 

What  inspiration  had  come  to  him?  Wnat  secret  influ 
ence  had  reformed  his  recent  inclinations  ?  What  power  had 
reversed  his  plans  and  started  him  again  on  the  verdant  road 
of  rigid  integrity,  where  flowers  bloom  and  birds  sing  the 
whole  year  round? 

"What  care  I,"  said  he,  as  he  walked  sprightly  along  to 
ward  his  apartments,  "what  Mr.  Fletcher,  Mr.  Jones,  or  any 
other  person  may  think,  so  long  as  they  shall  and  must  know 
that  'justice'  is  my  watchword,  and  ^honorable  conduct'  my 
guide.  They  may  call  me  'fool,'  but  they  shall  honor  me  in 
the  end.  They  may  scowl  at  me  for  not  being  their  'catspaw,' 
but  they  will  call  for  me  when  they  want  honest  men.  They 
can't  buy  me — they  can't  scare  me — they  can't  force  me  to 

145 


NORKOMA 

became  their  tool  of  corruption;  and,  by  the  God  of  Heaven, 
they  shall  not  shake  me  in  my  resolve  to  stand  for  truth, 
honesty  and  exact  justice  to  all  men  in  all  places." 

Butler  had  reached  his  rooms,  and,  as  he  entered,  he  dis 
covered  a  note  which  had  been  inserted  beneath  the  door.  It 
was  from  his  assistant,  or  the  city  editor,  requesting  his 
immediate  presence  at  the  office  of  The  Daily  Telegram. 

"All  right,  Butler,  I  guess  you  can  comply  with  this  re 
quest  without  overdoing  yourself,"  said  he  talking  to  him 
self,  a  habit  which  afflicts  many  newspaper  writers.  Arriv 
ing  at  the  office,  he  was  informed  by  his  assistant  that  Mr. 
Fletcher  had  been  there  and  left  directions  that  the  report 
of  the  Council  proceedings,  as  they  actually  occurred,  should 
not  appear  in  tomorrow's  issue  of  the  paper. 

"The  Telegram  must  publish  the  matter  fully  and  in  de 
tail,"  said  Butler,  "in  tomorrow's  issue,  regardless  of  Mr. 
Fletcher's  directions  or  desires.  It  is  the  business  of  a  news 
paper  to  publish  the  news.  That  is  what  the  people  pay  their 
money  for,  and  so  long  as  I  am  the  manager  here  The  Daily 
Telegram  will  be  run  according  to  my  directions.  Please 
see  that  the  matter  comes  out  in  tomorrow's  issue,  and  printed 
in  full." 

"Thank  you,  sir,  I  will  see  to  it,"  was  the  only  reply. 
Butler  passed  on  out,  returning  to  his  apartments  where  he 
prepared  to  retire.  But  he  knew  he  could  neither  rest  nor 
sleep.  His  whole  being  was  awake.  His  mind  was  filled 
with  a  raging  battle  'twixt  duty  and  policy.  Duty  won  the 
victory  in  a  walk,  and  policy  slinked  away  like  a  whipped 
cur.  The  battle  ended,  the  victory  won,  joy  returned  and 
filled  his  soul  to  overflowing. 

He  redonned  his  attire  and  went  out  upon  the  streets. 

146 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

The  night  air  was  apparently  bracing,  and  Butler  began  a 
brisk  walk.  Ere  he  had  gone  far,  he  was  suddenly  sur 
prised,  and  his  ears  shocked  by  the  most  unearthly  screams 
that  ever  emanated  from  the  throat  of  a  human  being. 

He  stopped,  looked  down  the  side  street  where  a  little 
dingy  hut,  filled  with  squalor  and  filth,  sat  perched  upon 
stilts  along  the  pavement  and  daily  passed  by  thousands  of 
the  city's  "best  citizens."  From  the  hut  came  a  human  being 
in  the  form  of  a  woman,  half-clad,  throwing  her  arms  wildly 
about  and  uttering  the  most  piercing  and  horrifying  screams 
that  Butler  had  ever  heard. 

"Coke  fiend/'  muttered  Butler,  as  the  half-clad  maniac 
passed  swiftly  by  him  in  her  frenzy,  only  to  run  into  the 
yawning  -  clutches  of  a  brass-buttoned  blue-coat. 

"Come,  ye  hag;  its  in  the  station  ye'll  go  fer  tonight,  sure 
it  is,"  said  the  blue-coat,  as  he  slipped  the  iron  bracelets 
upon  her  bony  wrists  and  gave  them  a  turn  that  threw  the 
semblance  of  a  woman  flat  upon  her  back  with  a  shriek  of 
pain,  while  the  brute  held  to  the  iron  chain,  tittering  with 
ghoulish  glee  at  the  torture  he  had  effected. 

Butler  had  observed  the  proceedings,  and,  half-crazed  with 
anger  at  the  apparent  cruelty  of  the  policeman,  at  once 
started  across  the  street  to  avenge  the  wrong,  but  it  occurred 
to  him  that  the  hour  was  late,  the  section  of  the  city  some 
what  shady  in  reputation,  and  that  an  altercation  under  the 
circumstances  with  an  officer  of  the  peace  might  reflect, 
unjustly,  upon  him,  should  it  reach  the  public  print. 

He  stopped — he  could  not  take  the  chances.  He  would, 
however,  through  curiosity,  the  natural  born  trait  of  news 
paper  men  and  women,  follow  the  spectacle  to  the  station. 
Taking  another  street  so  as  to  avoid  the  furor  created  by 

147 


NORKOMA 

the  "cake  fiend"  and  the  "Americanized  Shamrock''  along 
their  route  to  the  station,  Butler  won  out  by  a  rod  or  so.  He 
regretted  that  he  had  come.  Every  sense  of  decency  and 
humanity  within  him  was  shocked  and  affronted.  The  poor 
wreck  of  a  woman  had  been  dragged,  and  beaten  with  the 
policeman's  "billy,"  until  she  was  covered  with  bruises  and 
blood. 

"What  a  shame,"  remarked  Butler  as  he  gazed  upon  the 
poor,  frail,  bleeding,  accursed  creature,  "a  rag  and  a  bone 
and  a  hank  of  hair." 

"What's  it  to  ye;  may  be  ye'd  like  a  taste  o'  it  yerself," 
retorted  the  "Shamrock"  as  he  bristled  up  toward  Butler  with 
his  "billy"  drawn.  Butler  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two,  then 
turned  into  the  chief's  office,  but,  on  finding  no  one  there, 
came  out  and  passed  on  up  the  street  to  his  own  office. 

The  following  appeared  in  The  Daily  Telegram  the  next 
morning,  under  extra  heavy,  black  headlines: 

"The  dregs  of  hell  are  bartered  and  sold  in  our  fair  city 
by  some  of  our  'respectable'  druggists,  with  impunity.  Dead 
ly  drugs  are  dealt  out  over  their  counters  to  men,  women  and 
children  without  discrimination  and  without  question  so 
long  as  the  wherewith  is  produced  in  payment  therefor.  When 
crazed  with  the  poison,  then  the  policeman  begins  his  shame 
ful  clubbing  and  dragging,  until  the  victim  is  almost  beyond 
human  aid.  If  a  respectable  citizen  dares  think  aloud  of 
the  disgraceful  scene,  he  is  insulted  and  sometimes  clubbed 
by  the  policeman. 

"Last  night  I  witnessed  one  of  these  scenes.  It  will  re 
main  upon  my  mental  vision  to  my  dying  hour.  It  was  a 
little  slip  of  humanity,  a  woman,  crazed  with  morphine  or 

148 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

cocaine  which  she  had  openly  purchased  at  some  'respect 
able'  drug  store.  On  her  pinched  and  pitiful  face  the  hag 
gard  lines  of  dissipation  were  so  plainly  drawn  that  one 
could  not  question  the  cause.  From  dark  ringed  sockets 
her  listless  eyes  gazed  out  without  seeing.  From  her  parched 
and  purple  lips  she  emitted  the  vilest  of  words  that,  if  she 
heard  them  at  all,  seemed  to  her  as  sweet  and  beautiful  as 
a  godly  mother's  lullaby. 

"Poor  thing,  she  did  not  know — she  was  crazed  by  the  drug 
and  almost  dead  from  the  policeman's  cruelty  toward  her. 
Her  figure  was  emaciated  and  had  lost  the  symmetry  of  its 
former  days.  She  had  been  a  beautiful  girl,  but  now  she 
was  the  very  likeness  of  degredation  itself.  Poisoned  by 
the  accursed  drugs,  she  had  lost  all  instincts  of  womanhood, 
all  sense  of  shame,  and  all  memory  of  honor. 

"As  she  lay  upon  the  floor  of  the  police  station,  bleeding, 
bruised,  and  racked  with  pain  caused  by  the  policeman's 
'billy,'  I  looked  upon  her  with  moistened  eyes  and  bleeding 
heart,  and  I  said: 

"  Toor  little  thing.  As  sweet,  radiant  and  beautiful  as 
you  once  were,  perhaps,  now  your  soul  is  polluted,  your  life 
is  cursed,  and  your  very  presence  a  reproach.  Once  you 
romped  and  played  in  the  sunshine  of  a  mother's  holy  love. 
Once  you  clung  securely  to  a  loving  father's  hand.  Once  you 
walked  contentedly,  sheltered  under  a  doting  husband's  pro 
tecting  arm.  But  alas !  Innocently  at  first,  you  quieted 
pain  with  the  poisonous  drug.  It  was,  you  no  doubt  thought, 
your  friend,  and  was,  indeed,  not  less  a  friend  than  was  your 
druggist. 

"  Toor  girl !  A  few  more  days,  or  months,  or  years,  and 
you  will  be  sleeping  peacefully  beside  babbling  brooks  and 

149 


NORKOMA 

rippling  streams.  Your  thin,  wan  hands  will  be  folded  across 
your  sunken  breast.  No  loved  ones  will  press  a  farewell  kiss 
upon  your  brow.  No  tears,  no  sighs,  no  regrets  that  you 
are  gone/  But  this  is  not  an  isolated  ease.  Hundreds  of 
such  cases  exist  in  this  city.  Will  the  good  people  awaken  to 
this  awful  condition?  If  there  is  no  law  to  prevent  both  the 
open  and  indiscriminate  sale  of  poison  and  the  brutality  of 
the  police  force,  then  let  the  people  see  to  it  that  heroic  ac 
tion  is  taken  to  suppress  both  evils.  In  the  name  of  human 
ity,  I  pledge  my  honest,  faithful  efforts.  Who  will  join,  me? 

"JoE  BUTLER." 

Hardly  had  Butler  fallen  asleep  ere  the  newsboys  were 
upon  the  streets  crying  their  wares  to  the  early  passerby.  Oc 
casionally,  a  citizen  could  be  seen  scanning  the  columns  of 
the  Telegram  by  the  aid  of  the  early  morning  light.  Some 
times,  passersby  would  hail  each  other  with  a  reference  to 
the  report  of  the  Council  proceedings  and  a  suggestion  that 
"young  Marchand  is  all  right,"  or  that  "Butler  was  getting 
after  fake  druggists."  When  the  early  risers  picked  up  their 
papers  from  the  front  porches  or  galleries,  their  eyes  would 
invariably  rest  upon  the  big  headlines  relating  to  the  Coun 
cil  meeting  or  the  "Coke  Fiends,"  and  the  reports  of  both 
were  read  with  eagerness.  The  breakfast  table  talk  was, 
generally,  confined  to  a  discussion  of  these  subjects,  alone. 
The  business  men,  as  a  rule,  paid  little  heed  to  it.  Some 
of  them  frowned  or  scowled  and  simply  suggested  that  Mar 
chand  and  Butler  were  fanatics.  Others  smiled,  and  praised 
both  men.  The  ladies  of  the  various  households,  as  a  rule, 
gloried  in  the  nobility  of  the  two  men.  Some  of  them  de 
termined  to  join  the  "cleaning  up  crusade."  The  ministers 

150 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

of  the  city  churches  stared,  and  wondered  that  crime  was  so 
rampant  in  their  fair  city.  Some  of  them  cared  little  about 
it,  others  felt  that  an  awakening  must  be  brought  about. 
Here  was  a  newspaper  man,  a  non-church  member,  crying 
aloud  and  inviting  the  good  people  to  "come  over  into  Mace 
donia  and  help"  him,  while  the  godly  church  people  went 
about  with  their  eyes  closed  to  these  evils. 

Many  there  were  who  thought  they  saw  a  connection  of 
the  whole  moral  movement  with  politics1.  They  could  see, 
they  imagined,  that  the  people,  when  fully  aroused,  would 
come  into  their  own  rights.  In  that  they  were  not  wrong. 
The  people  had  made  a  beginning  by  electing  Marchand, 
and  he  was  doing  whatever  was  within  his  power  to  bring 
about  a  better  moral  and  political  condition.  He  could  ef 
fect  no  permanent  good  without  the  aid  of  the  people.  The 
government  belonged  to  the  whole  citizenship,  and  it  would 
be  just  what  the  citizenship  would  make  it.  The  Daily  Tele 
gram  had  been  constantly  placing  these  facts  before  the 
people.  They  had  begun  to  realize  the  truth  of  these  facts, 
and  the  time  was  rapidly  ripening  for  a  concerted  movement 
all  along  the  line. 

Long  before  the  appointed  time  of  the  meeting  of  Fletcher, 
Butler  and  Marchand,  and  long  before  Butler  had  ar 
rived  at  his  office,  his  telephone  was  kept  in  almost  constant 
use.  Citizens,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  throughout  the  city 
rang  up  to  assure  him  of  their  aid  and  assistance  in  his  move 
ment  for  a  better  moral  status.  When  Butler  arrived  at 
his  office  he  was,  at  first,  surprised,  then  greatly  elated  at 
the  many  messages  from  the  good  citizens.  He  had  not 
even  dreamed  that  his  little  appeal  would  evoke  more  than 
an  occasional  expression  of  regret.  Upon  the  contrary,  there 

151 


NORKOMA 

had  already  an  army  of  good  citizens  joined  him  in  his  bat 
tle  for  right.  What  would  the  day  bring  forth?  As  he 
thus  pondered,  his  'phone  rang.  He  responded  in  person. 
0  joy,  the  message  was  from  Edith !  That,  alone,  was  suf 
ficient  to  have  repaid  him  for  all  his  worry.  The  message 
bore  good  news.  In  her  quiet,  Christian  way,  she  would 
arouse  an  influence  that  would  greatly  aid  in  the  struggle. 

The  conversation  had  but  ceased  when  the  'phone  again 
rang.  Rev.  Wilson  would  take  the  matter  up  with  the  Pas 
tors'  Asso<r:.at .en  that  very  day,  and  would  report  results  to 
the  Telegram.  Mr.  Johnson,  the  Secretary  of  the  newly 
organized  Society  for  the  "Prevention  of  Cruelty  to  Ani 
mals,"  rang  up  and  pledged  the  co-operation  of  that  Asso 
ciation.  Butler  suggested  a  change  in  the  name,  to-wit: 
"Prevention  of  Cruelty  by  Animals"  so  as  to  apply  to  some 
of  the  members  of  the  police  force  of  the  city. 

By  the  time  of  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Fletcher  and  Marchaiul. 
Butler  had  the  assurance  of  so  many  good  citizens  of  their 
willingness  to  join  in  the  movement  for  a  better  moral  con 
dition  of  the  city,  that  he  was  not  only  elated,  but  felt  a 
confidence  in  his  position  that  could  not  be  shaken. 

Pletcher  was  not  in  the  most  pleasant  mood  when  he  en 
tered  Butler's  office.  In  fact,  he  pretended  to  be  in  a  bad 
humor,  at  first,  and  began  with: 

"I  thought  I  left  directions  that  the  report  of  the  Coun 
cil  meeting  should  be  published  in  a  modified  form." 

"So  I  was  informed  last  night,"  replied  Butler. 

"Well,  why  was  not  my  order  obeyed  ?"  replied  Pletcher. 

"Because  you  have  no  authority  to  direct  what  the  Tele 
gram  shall  or  shall  not  publish.  Besides,  the  Telegram  is 
not  going  to  suppress  the  truth  any  longer,  no  matter  what 

152 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

others  may  want  it  to  do.  I  trust  you  understand  me,  Mr. 
Fletcher." 

"I  think  I  do.  What  do  you  want  for  your  stock  in  the 
plant?" 

"Ten  thousand  dollars." 

"Whew!  But  you  never  put  in  half  that  amount  of 
money." 

"No,  not  one-fourth,  but  I've  put  something  else  into  it 
that's  done  more  to  make  the  plant  what  it  is  than  your 
money  has  ever  done." 

"Well,  we  will  talk  that  matter  over  later.  Here  comes 
Marchand." 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen,"  said  Walter,  pleasantly,  as 
he  entered  the  office.  After  taking  a  seat  he  turned  to 
Fletcher  and  said: 

"I  understand  you  wanted  a  conference  with  me,  and  I 
have  come  here  for  that  purpose." 

"Well,"  growled  Fletcher,  "we  may  as  well  get  right  down 
to  business.  I  may  as  well  tell  you  that  I  am  greatly  dis 
pleased  with  the  stand  you  have  taken  in  regard  to  the 
back  tax  matter.  I,  together  with  a  good  many  of  my 
friends,  think  it  is  unjust  and  unfair  to  us  to  have  you 
bring  up  these  old,  stale  matters  that  have  been  dormant 
for  so  many  years." 

"Pardon  me,  Mr.  Fletcher,  but  did  you  ever  raise  your  voice 
in  behalf  of  those  poor  people  who  were  sold  out  of  house 
and  home  through  this  back  tax  business?" 

"N"o,  I  presumed  the  matter  would  die  out  of  its  own  ac 
cord,  and  that  by  putting  honest,  energetic  young  men  like 
yourself  into  office,  we  would  start  off  on  a  new  business 

153 


NORKOMA 

basis,  and  hereafter  run  the  city  government  as  it  should 
be  run." 

"You  held  the  office  of  Tax  Collector  some  years  ago, 
did  you  not,  Mr.  Fletcher?"  asked  Walter. 

"Yes/3  answered  Fletcher  as  he  twisted  around  uneasily 
in  his  chair. 

"I  have  some  tax  receipts  issued  by  you  as  Collector,  but 
the  books  of  the  Collector's  office  do  not  seem  to  show  that 
the  money  was  ever  accounted  for  to  the  city,  or  that  the 
taxes  on  the  specific  property  were  paid.  The  holders  of 
the  receipts  are  defendants  in  tax  suits,  and  of  course  they 
have  a  good  and  valid  defense.  Can  you  throw  any  light  on 
the  matter?" 

"No,  and  I  don't  intend  to  try,"  answered  Fletcher. 

"But,  my  dear  Mr.  Fletcher,  I  am  asking  you  in  good 
faith,  for  information  that,  if  you  can  not  now  give,  you 
should  proceed  to  acquire  without  delay.  You  are  person 
ally  interested  in  the  matter,  while  I  am  only  interested  on 
behalf  of  the  public.  I  must  and  will  have  the  informa 
tion,  whether  you  furnish  it  or  not." 

"I  think  you  fail  to  understand.  I  will  look  into  the 
matter,  and  if  any  error  or  mistake  has  occurred  while  I 
was  responsible  for  the  conduct  of  the  office,  why,  of  course, 
I  will  rectify  it." 

"That  is  all  I  would  ask,  Mr.  Fletcher.  I  have  no  de 
sire  to  cause  you  any  unnecessary  trouble.  You  must  know 
that  when  people  are  sued  for  taxes  and  they  hold  tax  re 
ceipts  showing  the  taxes  to  be  paid,  they  have  a  legal  and 
moral  right  to  a  full  and  free  investigation  of  the  whole 
affair.  The  investigation  I  have  already  begun.  I  fear  that 

154 


the  error  or  mistake  rests  with  the  Collector's  office,  and 
during  your  incumbency." 

"Well,  it  is  not  your  official  duty  to  dig  up  those  old  mat 
ters,  is  it?" 

"Not  primarily.  It  is  my  official  duty  to  not  do  injustice 
to  any  one.  These  defendants  who  hold  your  receipts  are 
preparing  to  implead  you  in  those  tax  suits,  and  I  would 
be  powerless  to  prevent  them,  even  if  I  desired.  In  that 
event  it  becomes  my  official  duty  to  'dig  up  all  those  old 
matters'  and  everything  else  bearing  upon  the  subject,  for 
the  enlightenment  of  the  court  and  the  jury. 

"Is  there  any  necessity  of  pushing  these  tax  suits  to  a 
speedy  termination  ?  If  given  the  time,  I  would  like  to  make 
a  very  thorough  investigation  of  the  matter  you  have  men 
tioned,  and,  of  course,  I  would  not  care  to  have  any  uncalled 
for  publicity  in  the  meantime." 

"You  understand,  Mr.  Fletcher,  that  so  far  I  have  not 
filed  a  single  tax.  suit,  except  those  against  the  city  officials. 
The  suits  now  pending,  except  the  ones  mentioned,  were  all 
filed  by  my  predecessors.  My  plan  is,  however,  to  file  suits 
as  rapidly  as  possible  against  the  large  property  holders  who 
owe  back  taxes,  and  these  suits  I  will  push  to  a  termination 
in  preference  to  the  others." 

"That  would  probably  be  all  right,  if  there  were  any  ne 
cessity  for  it  whatever,  but  I  see  none.  Why  not  cut  down 
the  running  expenses  of  the  government  so  that  the  income 
will  be  sufficient  to  meet  them?" 

"I  am  not  responsible  for  the  bad  management  of  the 
city's  affairs  at  present,  nor  in  the  past.  I  am  responsible 
for  the  conduct  of  my  office,  only.  I  intend  to  do  my 

156 


duty  without  favor  to  friend  or  fear  of  foe.  No  amount  of 
argument  shall  sway  me  from  my  purpose.  You  have  been 
my  friend,  and  I  assure  you  that  your  kindness  has  been 
thoroughly  appreciated.  I  would  not  expect  you  to  presume 
upon  that  friendship  to  the  extent  that  I  would  blend  it 
with  the  unfaithful  discharge  of  my  official  duty.  Let  us 
fully  understand  each  other.  I  need  not  remind  you  that 
you  owe  a  large  amount  of  back  taxes,  or  else  the  Collector's 
books  import  a  falsity.  That  many  citizens  hold  tax  re 
ceipts  signed  by  you,  as  Collector,  some  years  ago,  and  still 
the  records  show  their  taxes  unpaid.  With  the  latter  ques 
tion,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  called  upon  to  deal.  With  the 
former,  my  duty  is  plain,  and  you  may  as  well  prepare  for 
an  early  settlement,  otherwise  a  suit  will  be  filed." 

"Well,"  sighed  Fletcher,  "you  certainly  make  yourself 
plain,  and  I  commend  you  for  it.  If  I  am  compelled  to 
pay  up,  I  certainly  shall  hope  to  see  every  other  citizen  of 
this  town  made  to  do  likewise." 

"Now,  Mr.  Fletcher,  you  have  but  repeated  the  words 
spoken  by  hundreds  of  the  poor  people  against  whom  those 
tax  suits  were  brought  by  my  predecessors.  You  are  not  un 
like  all  other  human  beings.  You  want  good,  honest  govern 
ment,  especially  when  the  other  fellow  is  compelled  to  'be 
good/" 

It  was  seen  that  no  amount  of  argument  or  persuasion 
could  shake  Marchand  from  his  stand  for  "exact  justice'' 
in  all  things.  It  was  evident  that,  if  he  could  be  moved 
at  all,  other  means  would  have  to  be  employed.  The  friend 
ship  of  Butler  had  at  first  been  thought  sufficient,  but  was 
not.  The  friendship  of  Fletcher  availed  nothing.  The  con 
duct  of  the  City  Council  and  the  railings  of  his  political 

156 


A  NEW  RECRUIT 

enemies  ,could  not  sway  Marchancl.  The  people  were  rapidly 
acquainting  themselves  with  the  heroic  struggle  which  Mar- 
chand  was  making,  and  their  faith  and  confidence  in  him 
irvow  stronger  daily.  His  conduct  was  an  encouragement  to 
those  who  wanted  good  government,  and  a  menace  to  others 
who  did  not.  With  some  of  them  the  "day  of  reckoning" 
was  near  at  hand.  The  golden  orb  of  justice  and  hone-st 
government  was  slowly  rising  to  its  noon-day  meridian. 


157 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XVIII.  _, 

MORE  RECRUITS. 

When  Fletcher  departed  from  the  office  of  The  Daily 
Telegram,  he  proceeded  to  a  pre-arranged  conference  with 
some  of  his  friends,  who  were  likewise  "interested,"  and  to 
whom  he  reported  "progress."  In  that  conference  was  the 
father  of  the  City  Attorney,  LeBerte  Marchand,  but  he  was 
there  by  request  and  in  the  capacity  of  legal  adviser — an 
employed  attorney.  As  such,  he  had  a  legal  right  there. 
In  fact,  LeBerte  Marchand  had  not  comprehended  the  full 
import  nor  purpose  of  the  conference,  although  he  had  ac 
cepted  a  splendid  "retainer"  fee  from  the  "Association," 
with  the  prospect  of  something  better  in  the  way  of  regular 
fees,  to  follow. 

The  Association  was  supposed  to  have  for  its  object  the 
betterment  of  "Civic  Conditions,"  or  some  other  equally  good 
sounding  purpose,  and  was,  or  was  to  be,  composed  of  "the 
best  citizens"  and  those  who  had  the  real  "interests  of  the 
city  at  heart."  No  one  could  doubt  that  fact,  for  among  the 
membership  there  was  'Mr.  Fletcher,  a  large  property  owner, 
and  interested  in  many  of  the  largest  enterprises  in  the  city. 
Then  there  was  Mr.  Jones,  highly  connected  with  the  First 
Presbyterian  Church,  a  banker,  and  a  director  in  several  rail 
roads  with  "allied  interests."  Mr.  Brown,  owner  of  one  of 

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MORE  RECRUITS 

the  largest  stores  in  the  city,,  was  also  there.  He  was  like 
wise  connected  with  large  corporate  interests  and  owned 
much  property.  And  there  was  Mr.  White,  manager  and 
superintendent  of  the  water-works.  Among  those  present 
was  Mr.  Johnson,  son  of  the  old  and  respected  Rev.  Johnson 
of  the  Baptist  Church.  Mr.  Johnson  owned  the  large  drug 
store  on  Canal  Street,  besides  other  smaller  "joints" 
in  the  various  parts  of  the  city  which  he  operated  "for  the 
convenience"  of  the  people. 

The  little  assemblage  was  of  the  city's  "most  substantial" 
citizenship,  and  it  was  to  be  expected  that  the  general  wel 
fare  of  the  whole  people  would  be  considered.  True,  it  was 
not  proposed  to  "storm  the  citadel."  They  would,  however, 
bring  about  the  city's  greatest  good  in  that  quiet,  deliberate 
way,  in  which  evil  outraces  virtue,  every  time. 

The  conference  had  proceeded  along  general  lines  until 
it  touched  upon  the  official  duties  of  the  City  Attorney. 
Marchand  had  joined  in  the  conference  with  that  degree  of 
apparent  interest,  sufficient  to  warrant  the  feeling  that  he 
was  "earning"  his  fee.  One  suggestion  led  to  another,  until 
LeBerte  Marchand,  rich  in  experience  and  acute  of  observa 
tion,  could  see  the  fine  "Italian  hand"  of  the  astute  leaders. 
He  could  discern  the  motive,  could  see  to  the  very  bottom 
of  the  plan.  He  could  see  where  the  ffbuck  and  gag"  was  to 
be  placed  upon  the  City  Attorney,  and  that  he,  the  father, 
was  selected  to  do  the  job,  as  the  "paid  hireling"  of  those 
whom  he  called  his  friends.  He  kept  his  own  counsel  for 
a  spell,  fearing  that  he  was  in  error — he  might  be  wrong. 
He  then  entered  more  freely  into  the  spirit  of  the  confer 
ence,  that  he  might  detect  the  real  and  ultimate  object  of 
the  leading  members  of  the  conference. 

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NORKOMA 

It  soon  developed  that  the  collection  of  the  back  taxc? 
was  the  seat  of  the  trouble.  All  present  were  agreed  that 
the  payment  of  these  taxes  was  like  paying  for  a  dead  horse. 
True,  the  city  was  deeply  in  debt,  and  had  been  bonded  to 
the  constitutional  limit.  No  sinking  fund  had  been  creat 
ed  with  which  to  pay  off  any  of  the  bonds  when  they  fell 
due,  as  required  by  the  State  Constitution.  It  had  been 
criminal  in  the  city  officers  to  fail  in  providing  a  sinking 
fund,  and  the  bondholders  might,  if  they  ever  became  aware 
of  the  fact,  cause  serious  trouble,  even  to  the  extent  of 
criminally  prosecuting  the  former  city  officials  for  such  neg 
lect.  This  suggestion  by  LeBerte  Marchand  caused  a  mo 
mentary  uneasiness  on  the  part  of  some  of  those  present  who 
had  formerly  graced  the  offices  of  the  city. 

"In  justice  to  the  bondholders,  as  well  as  the  people," 
suggested  Marchand,  "the  back  taxes  should  be  paid.  There 
are  other  reasons.  Every  citizen  of  the  city  should  bear  his 
equal  and  just  proportion  of  the  expenses  of  local  govern 
ment.  When  he  fails  to  do  that,  it  lays  a  heavier  burden 
upon  his  fellow  citizen,  and  that  is  unequal  and  unjust.  Take, 
for  instance,  those  cases  where  some  of  our  citizens  have 
already  had  their  home  sold  over  their  head  for  these  back 
taxes,  while  others  still  owe  the  city  large  amounts.  Had 
we,  of  the  class  considered  somewhat  wealthy,  either  volun 
tarily  or  under  compulsion  contributed  our  just  proportion  of 
the  expenses  of  government,  the  injustice  to  those  citizens 
would  not  have  occurred. 

"Are  there  any  among  us  that  will  n<>w  insist  that  the 
poorer  class,  against  hundreds  of  whom  legal  action  has  al 
ready  been  taken,  should  be  compelled  to  pay  their  taxes 
and  costs,  and  the  rest  of  us  go  free?" 

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MORE  RECRUITS 

"But  we  have  employed  you,  Mr.  Marchand,  to  assist  us  in 
finding  a  remedy/'  interjected  Smith. 

"True,  and  if  you  will  bear  with  me,  I  will  direct  you 
aright  ere  my  duties  have  been  completed.  The  second  rea 
son  is,  that  we  have  had  the  protection  of  the  government 
in  greater  proportion  than  the  less  wealthy  class ;  and  in  that, 
the  expenses  of  the  government  have  been  greater,  per  capita, 
on  our  account  than  on  theirs.  Thus,  the  indebtedness  of 
the  city  is  ours,  more  than  theirs,  and  if  we  will  be  honest 
with  ourselves,  we  will  not  shirk  our  responsibilities.  To 
my  mind  there  is  but  one  of  two  courses  for  us  to  pursue. 
•We  should  all  pay  our  just  debts  to  the  city,  or  we  should 
restore  those  who  have  been  injured,  to  their  just  status,  and 
then  dismiss  all  pending  tax  suits." 

"But  our  city  is  in  a  deplorable  condition,  financially," 
chirped  'Mr.  Johnson,  "and  the  tax  collections  must  go  on, 
especially  where  suits  have  been  filed,  at  least," 

"I  see  that  neither  the  logic  of  my  argument,  nor  the  sound 
ness  of  my  deductions,  have  availed  anything.  Let  me  ask 
you,  Mr.  Johnson,  one  question.  Are  you  willing  to  enforce 
the  thousands  of  suits  for  back  taxes,  and  yourself  escape 
from  paying  what  you  owe?" 

"The  first  law  of  human  nature,  you  know,  Mr.  Marchand. 
That  is  what  we  hired  you  to  accomplish  for  us." 

"You  are  mistaken,  sir.  You  retained  me  for  nothing  of 
the  kind." 

In  his  earlier  days,  LeBerte  Marchand,  like  stfrne  lawyers, 
was  willing  to  take  employment,  and  if  the  compensation  were 
sufficient,  was  also  willing  to  lead  his  client  along  the  very 
edge  of  the  precipice  over  which  honor  and  honesty  some 
times  accidentally  fall,  only  to  be  swallowed  in  the  abyss  of 

161 


NORKOMA 

fraud  and  corruption  below.  But  in  his  later  years,  sobered 
by  sorrow,  mellowed  by  misfortune,  de-energized  by  old  age, 
and  at  last  coddled  into  docile  contentment  by  the  sacred 
influences  of  a  loving  family,  he  would  not  tread  the  danger 
ous  paths  that  might  engulf  his  honor  or  taint  his  family 
name,  no  matter  how  tempting  the  proffered  fee.  He  real' 
ized  that  there  was  something  in  life  worth  more  than  money. 
He  had  learned  that  fact  by  experience.  He  had  passed 
through  that  period  of  frenzy  when  money-getting  was  his 
sole  ambition.  How  it  had  dwarfed  his  better  nature.  How 
it  had  stunted  his  spiritual  growth.  How  it  had  checkered 
his  moral  pathway.  His  sorrows  had  been  the  greatest  bless 
ings  that  ever  came  to  him,  though  in  disguise.  They  stopped 
his  frenzied  career.  They  put  him  in  commune  with  God. 
They  gave  back  to  him  the  purity  of  his  childhood.  They 
gave  him  strength  to  retain  that  purity. 

Old  age  had  crept  upon  LeBerte  Marchand  ere  he  and  his 
friends  were  aware  of  that  fact.  As  he  stood  before  the 
assemblage  of  his  friends  upon  this  occasion,  as  their  legal 
adviser  and  counselor,  his  white  locks  flowing  down  over 
his  shoulders,  his  form  bended,  his  limbs  atremble,  he  ap 
pealed  to  his  clients  with  more  effect  than  could  have  done 
a  younger  man.  He  spoke  calmly,  argued  logically,  deduced 
clearly.  Withal,  his  hearers  expected  something  of  him 
which  he  would  never  give.  At  last,  with  his  pride  wound 
ed,  his  spirit  bruised,  his  anger  aroused  beyond  his  control, 
the  old  man"  continued: 

"Gentlemen,  I  fear  I  can  no  longer  serve  you  in  your  pur 
poses,  which  are  now  evident  to  my  mind.  Permit  me  to 
suggest  to  you,  that  while  you  are  here  planning  and  plot 
ting  for  your  own  selfish  and  individual  gain,  a  mighty 

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MORE  RECRUITS 

storm  is  brewing  around  the  city.  It  will  soon  burst  over 
your  heads.  Think  you  that  the  people  will  longer  remain 
pacified  with  your  lullaby?  If  so,  you  are  mistaken.  The 
people  are  already  demanding  justice — equal  justice  to  all 
alike.  In  that  demand  the  people  are  right.  In  your  refusal 
to  do  justice,  you  are  wrong.  Are  you  not  willing  to  do 
that  which,  in  all  common  justice,  is  due  to  your  city,  to 
your  own  people,  and  which  you  know  to  be  fair  and  right, 
between  man  and  man,  and  between  yourselves  and  the  city? 

"Some  of  you  represent  Eastern  capitalists  who  own  the 
majority  of  the  local  corporate  enterprises.  Our  people  have 
given  them  the  rights,  franchises  and  privileges  they  enjoy 
in  this  city.  The  earnings  of  these  corporations  are  made 
up  of  the  money  which  our  people  pour  into  their  coffers. 
What  do  the  people  receive  in  return?  Poor,  miserable  ser 
vice. 

"Our  people  are  a  patient  people,  but  there  is  a  limit  to 
their  patience.  Is  it  any  wonder  that  the  Southern  and 
Western  cities  have  raised  the  cry  of  'Municipal  Ownership  ?' 
The  various  cities  have  suffered  so  long  under  the  repeated 
promises  of  better  conditions,  better  facilities,  only  to  be  dis 
appointed,  that  their  only  salvation  appears  to  be  in  'Munici 
pal  Ownership.'  The  continuation  of  this  practice  will, 
sooner  or  later,  bring  a  change  of  masters  throughout  the 
South  and  West,  and  I  hope  throughout  the  whole  country. 

"From  this  extreme  laxity  and  indifference  to  the  people's 
rights  will  certainly  come  another  extreme  which  will  more 
than  bring  justice  to  the  people.  One  extreme  follows  an 
other,  as  a  rule.  Your  exorbitant  rates  may  be  trimmed 
down,  and  the  conduct  of  your  business  regulated  by  ordi 
nances  and  the  law.  You  will  then  realize  that  your  sys- 

163 


NORKOMA 

tern  has  not  been  the  proper  method  in  dealing  with  the  peo 
ple. 

"Pardon  me,  gentlemen.  Perhaps  I  have  not  been  war 
ranted  in  thus  speaking,  but  my  spirit  has  been  tortured,  my 
pride  wounded.  I  regret  that  you  have  tried  to  coddle  the 
'old  man.'  I  fear  that  through  him  you  might  seek  to  stifle 
the  official  integrity  of  his  noble  son.  If  so,  you  have  gone 
a  step  too  far.  I  do  not  charge  you  with  so  doing,  but  it  has 
that  appearance,  and  I  can  serve  you  no  longer.  I  therefore 
bid  you  good-day." 

When  the  old  gentleman  passed  out  from  the  conference, 
the  conferees  stared  blankly  at  each  other,  as  though  some 
great  calamity  had  befallen  them.  Pletcher  was  the  first  to 
recover,  but  he  had  grown  somewhat  accustomed  to  surprises, 
that  day.  As  he  recovered,  his  anger  became  somewhat 
aroused  at  the  "unpolitic"  remarks  which  Mr.  Johnson  had 
made  to  the  old  gentleman,  and  he  let  himself  be  understood 
on  that  score.  Johnson  was  hard  headed  and  saw  no  rea 
son  why  "the  bunch  could  not  take  the  bull  by  the  horns" 
and  "do  as  they  pleased." 

"What!  Defy  the  people  at  such  a  time  as  this?"  shout 
ed  Pletcher.  "It  is  sheer  folly;  nonsense.  There  is  more 
truth  in  what  the  old  man  said  than  you  dream  of." 

"My  opinion  is,"  said  Banker  Jones,  "that  the  matter 
was  not  diplomatically  handled.  Marchand  has  always  been 
our  friend,  but  he  has  a  rather  high  sense  of  honor,  and  under 
different  circumstances  we  could  rely  upon  him." 

"Could  not  we  arrange  with  the  City  Attorney,"  suggested 
Smith,  "for  some  sort  of  compromise  on  the  back  tax  ques 
tion,  so  as  to  afford  temporary  relief  until  this  apparent 
wave  of  fanaticism  passes  over?" 

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MORE  RECRUITS 

"That  was  the  object  of  this  conference,"  returned  Fletch 
er,  "and  there  was  only  one  peaceable  way  of  accomplishing 
that  result,  to  wit,  through  the  father.  But  I  doubt  the 
wisdom  of  pursuing  that  course  further." 

"Why  can  not  the  city  council  repeal  the  ordinance? 
That  would  stop  further  proceedings  in  the  matter,"  ven 
tured  White. 

"That  would  be  useless,  for  the  authority  rests  in  the 
charter  and  not  in  the  ordinance,"  returned  Fletcher. 

"But  we  could  procure  a  new  charter  at  the  next  session 
of  the  Legislature,"  interjected  Mr.  Black. 

"Perhaps!  But  our  city  election  is  held  prior  to  the 
state  election,"  said  Fletcher,  somewhat  irritated. 

"What  has  that  to  do  with  it?"  queried  Jones,  the  dis 
penser  of  drugs  and  cocaine. 

"A  heap,"  retorted  Fletcher,  his  anger  rising. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  are  getting  chicken-hearted  on  the  mat 
ter,"  snarled  Jones,  "I  reckon  the  rest  of  us  can  look  after 
the  matter." 

'  "All  right,  Mr.  Jones,"  returned  Fletcher,  angered  to  the 
degree  of  calmness.  "I  shall  hereafter  follow  my  own 
course." 

"JTow  is  that  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?"  quickly  asked  White. 

"I  mean  just  this :  I  will  pay  every  cent  of  back  taxes  that 
I  owe  to  the  city,  and  I'll  see  to  it  that  every  other  citizen 
shall  do  likewise.  I  have  been  playing  into  the  hands  of 
those  who  have  not  proven  to  be  my  friends,  long  enough. 
What  are  my  profits  ?  Promises — nothing  but  promises.  I've 
been  a  tool,  a  dupe,  a  knave.  I've  been  permitted  to  pick 
up  a  few  crumbs  that  fell  from  the  sumptuous  table.  Mar- 
chand  told  the  truth  when  he  called  us  agents  of  Eastern 

163 


NORKOMA 

capitalists  instead  of  representatives  of  our  people.  I  admit 
the  truth.  It  has  robbed  us  of  our  civic  pride,  if  any  we 
ever  had.  We  have  devoted  our  best  energies  to  making  'good 
returns'  to  our  masters,  at  the  expense  of  our  people,  simply 
for  our  personal,  individual  profit  and  gain.  My  share 
has  been  mostly  promises,  and  I  am  done.  Having  been 
friends,  let  us  remain  so,  but  please  count  me  out  of  further 
deals  along  this  line.  So  far  as  I'm  concerned,  we  may  as 
well  adjourn." 

An  earthquake  would  not  have  been  more  productive  of 
results  in  that  conference  than  was  Fletcher's  announcement. 
Those  present  had,  for  years,  depended  upon  Fletcher  to 
manage  the  political  end  of  their  affairs.  They  had,  years 
before,  elected  him  to  office,  and  he  had  faithfully  served 
their  purpose.  Eetiring  from  public  office,  they  had  re 
tained  him  in  a  sort  of  political  way,  at  an  unstated  and  un 
certain  compensation,  and  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  sort  of 
local  political  oracle.  Now  that  he  had  cut  loose  from  them, 
they  had  cause  to  fear.  It  gave  them  opportunity  to  think 
for  themselves.  They  were  as  a  political  bark  without  a  rud 
der. 

When  Fletcher  left  the  conference  room,  he  went  directly 
to  the  offices  of  Marchand  &  Marchand.  There  he  found 
the  father,  the  son,  and  Joe  Butler  in  consultation.  Fletcher 
was  a  man  who,  when  aroused,  never  minced  words.  If  he 
had  his  mind  set,  he  went  straight  to  the  point.  So  he  did 
upon  this  occasion.  For  some  days  he  had  been  rather  brood 
ing  over  what  he  termed  the  ingratitude  of  his  former  mas 
ters  for  his  slavish  work  in  their  behalf.  It  had  rankled 
in  his  bosom  before,  but  had  been  smothered  with  platitudes 
and  promises,  and  thus  he  would  put  off  the  evil  day.  He 

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MORE  RECRUITS 

knew  he  had  sins  of  omission  and  commission  to  answer  for, 
and  that  always  tended  to  quiet  his  anger.  Not  so,  at  last. 
His  sins,  if  sins  they  were,  had  resulted  from  his  slavery  to 
the  agents,  or  representatives  of  foreign  capitalists,  instead 
of  serving  the  hest  interests  of  the  community  in  which  he 
lived.  He  realized  his  knavery  of  the  past.  He  recognized 
the  treachery  of  his  companions.  He  saw  them  sitting  at 
the  sumptuous  table,  gorging  themselves,  as  he  termed  it, 
while  he  was  only  permitted  to  pick  up  the  poor  crumbs  from 
the  floor.  He  would  no  longer  train  in  their  political  party. 
Not  only  that,  but,  when  he  had  gained  his  own  consent  to 
do  justice  to  the  people,  he  determined  that  they  also  should 
do  justice.  He  had  burned  the  bridges,  there  was  no  turning 
back.  The  only  course  was,  "forward." 

And~  Fletcher  did  go  forward.  Upon  entering  the  Mar- 
chand  offices,  he  frankly  explained  that  he  had  come  "for 
business."  He  explained  his  mission,  and  assured  the  City 
Attorney  that  he  not  only  desired  to  adjust  his  indebtedness 
to  the  city,  but  that  he  hoped  every  citizen  should  be  made 
to  do  likewise.  He  was  assured  by  Walter  Marchand  that 
it  was  a  great  pleasure  to  the  City  Attorney  to  take  up  the 
matter  in  a  spirit  of  fairness,  and  that  they  would,  no  doubt, 
get  along  admirably. 

The  formality  of  the  business  announcement  over,  the 
four  friends  dwelt  upon  the  condition  of  civic  affairs,  all 
agreeing  that  the  very  near  future  held  in  store  a  moral 
awakening. 

"And  when  it  comes,"  warmly  exclaimed  Fletcher,  as  he  ex 
tended  his  hand  to  the  City  Attorney,  "please  remember,  that 
from  this  day  forth,  I  am  with  you,  heart  and  hand,  for 
honest  government,  and  the  best  interests  of  our  people.'' 

167 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTEE  XIX. 
THE  STKANGE  OLD  MAN. 

LeBerte  Marchand  did  not  divulge  all  that  had  transpired 
at  the  caucus  of  the  "best  citizens/'  as  related  in  the  preced 
ing  chapter.  He  deemed  it  best  to  withhold  the  informa 
tion  and  deal  with  matters  as  his  better  judgment  should 
dictate.  The  day  had  been  an  eventful  one,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  good  results  flowing  from  the  efforts  of  those  in 
terested. 

There  was  joy  around  the  fireside  of  "The  Cedars,"  when 
Mr.  Marchand  and  Walter  returned  from  the  city  that  even 
ing  and  related  the  experiences  of  the  day.  Edith  and  Mrs. 
Marchand  had  not  been  idle,  but,  upon  the  contrary,  had 
gone  out  among  their  lady  friends,  quietly  and  calmly  talk 
ing  for  a  better  moral  condition  of  the  city.  All  with  whom 
they  came  in  contact  appeared  to  realize  that  a  change  for 
the  better  must  come.  Many  had  long  wondered  that  some 
thing  had  not  already  been  done.  They  had  been  waiting 
for  others  to  take  the  lead.  Some  of  them  had  kin-folk  who 
were  connected  with  polities,  or  were  employed  by  those  in 
terests  that  controlled  the  politics  of  the  city,  and  on  that 
account  they  had  remained  inactive — quiet.  In  other  words, 
their  cowardice  was  stronger  than  their  morality — and  cow 
ardice  was  their  master.  Now  that  there  were  leaders,  they 

168 


THE  STRANGE  OLD  MAN 

would  prick  up  their  courage.  They  would,  some  of  them, 
venture  to  let  it  be  known  in  a  mild  way  that  they  loved 
good  government,  morality  and  official  integrity.  "No  one 
could  blame  them  for  that,"  poor  souls.  Others  expressed 
their  willingness  to  put  on  their  armor  and  go  into  the  bat 
tle  to  do  or  die.  So  Edith  reported. 

"And  who,  what  class  of  people  did  you  observe,  were  will 
ing  to  do  such  noble  battle?"  asked  Walter. 

"If  my  judgment  be  not  in  error,  it  was  the  less  wealthy 
class.  I  know  that  from  those  whom  I  consider  wealthy, 
and  of  the  real  'smart  set/  we  received  the  least  encourage 
ment.  They  appeared  more  listless  and  unconcerned,  or,  if 
not  unconcerned,  certainly  less  willing  to  lend  encouragement 
by  their  own  exertions." 

"ISTot  all  of  your  wealthy  friends  appeared  that  way,  Edith, 
dear,"  suggested  Mrs.  Marchand,  "for,  if  I  be  not  mistaken, 
some  of  them  appeared  quite  willing  to  join  in  the  work." 

"Oh,  certainly,  mother.  I  did  not  wish  to  be  understood  as 
saying  that  none  of  the  wealthy  folk  were  willing,  but  rather 
that,  comparatively,  fewer  of  them  exhibited  a  willingness  to 
join,  heart  and  soul,  in  the  active  work.  But  how  goes  the 
business  of  my  brother's  office?  I'm  so  anxious  about  every 
thing  that  you  and  Mr.  Butler  have  in  hand  concerning  pub 
lic  affairs.' 

"Indeed,  my  darling  sister,"  returned  Walter,  laugliingly, 
"and  when  did  such  remarkable  interest  arise  touching  the 
affairs  of  my  friend  ?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha — you  naughty  old  brother.  Did  I  not  love 
you  so  greatly,  I  would  chide  you  for  your  bad  behavior. 
My  remarkable  interest  in  Mr.  Butler  was  awakened  when 
he  threw  off.  the  galling  yoke  of  his  masters  and  came  out 

169 


NORKOMA 

boldly  as  a  valiant  soldier  for  the  cause  in  which  my  brother 
was  so  manfully  struggling.  Whether  it  was  because  I  loved 
my  brother  more  than  I  loved  the  cause,  I  am  unable  to  say, 
but  certainly  because  I  loved  both  the  cause  and  my  big, 
manly  brother." 

"Three  cheers  for  Queen  Edith!"  should  the  elder  Mar- 
chand,  as  he  arose  from  his  chair  and  gently  stroked  his 
daughter's  sleek,  beautiful  head  of  hair.  "Edith,  you 
are  indeed  a  noble,  queenly  girl,  and  happy  the  man  who 
shall  be  fortunate " 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  daddy,"  laughed  Edith,  putting  her  pretty 
little  hand  over  the  father's  mouth,  preventing  his  further 
speech,  "you  are  as  naughty  as,  my  big  brother.  You  should 
not  tease  your  little  girl,  for  I'm  the  only  little  girl  you've 
got,  you  know." 

"Yes,  Edith,  and  the  very  best  little  girl  in  all  the  world, 
but  I  suppose  we  will  lose  you  some  of  these  days." 

"No,  I  think  not,  papa,  not  the  way  you  mean." 

"Why  not,  my  child  ?    Let  me  see,  you  are  now  twenty — " 

"There,  now,  daddy,"  and  again  Edith  prevented  further 
speech  by  the  ready  application  of  her  hand.  "You  should 
never  deliberate  or  figure  on  a  woman's  age,  no  matter  how 
old  or  young  she  may  be.  It  is  a  real  crime,  you  know, 
and  if  we  women  were  permitted  to  sit  upon  the  jurist's 
bench,  and  you  should  be  charged  with  such  a  crime.  Oh, 
goodness,  what  a  sentence !  Let's  see — what  should  I  say, 
brother,  in  such  a  case,  I  being  the  judge?" 

"And  your  father  the  criminal  ?"  asked  Walter. 

"Why,  certainly.  Do  you  not  see  I  am  about  to  pass  sen 
tence?" 

170 


THE  STRANGE  OLD  MAN 

"Oh,  well,  on  account  of  his  being  your  father,  you  should 
make  the  punishment  very  light." 

"Exact  justice  at  all  times  and  in  all  places/'  mock-seriously 
returned  Edith,  "and  you  shall  be  punished  thusly."  Edith 
threw  her  arms  around  the  old  gentleman  and  kissed  him  with 
real  warmth  and  fervor,  then  continued:  "And  now,  hav 
ing  been  punished  with  a  just  and  righteous  punishment, 
I  trust  you  will  let  the  advice  of  the  court  sink  deep  into 
your  heart,  and  never,  never  be  guilty  of  that  awful  crime 
again.  So  mote  it  be/' 

"And  I  shall  come  to  the  rescue  of  the  criminal  by  admin 
istering  like  punishment  upon  the  court,"  said  Walter,  as 
he  sprang  forward,  but  Edith,  darting  under  his  arms  with 
the  agility  of  a  cat,  was  beyond  his  reach  in  a  jiffy,  and  in 
a  playful  mood  sought  protection  at  the  mother's  side,  say 
ing  :  "And  the  court  will  claim  the  protection  of  the  Queen." 

"And  the  Crown  Prince  will,"  said  Walter,  as  he  ap 
proached,  "manifest  his  loyalty  to  the  Queen  as  fittingly  be 
comes  a  subordinate  member  of  the  royal  family,"  then  gently 
and  tenderly  enfolding  the  mother  in  his  arms,  saying  to 
Edith  at  the  same  time,  "and  thereby  ignore  the  court." 

"You  are  fined  for  contempt  of  the  court,  and  you  shall  re 
main  in  durance  vile  until  wholly  absolved  therefrom," 
said  Edith,  mock-seriously. 

"What  is  the  fine?  How  shall  I  absolve  myself,  knowing 
not  the  mind  of  the  court?" 

"The  court  knows  its  own  mind,  and  transgressors  shall 
be  doubly  punished  if  they  don't  correctly  guess  what  the 
court  really  requires  as  the  price  of  absolution." 

"One,  two,  three,  and  away  we  go,"  said  Walter,  as  he 
sprang  after  Edith,  overtaking  her  in  the  library,  where, 

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NORKOMA 

after  several  attempts,  he  succeeded  in  paying  the  penalty 
and  absolving  himself  from  the  contempt  of  the  court. 

"Oh,  how  happy  Edith  and  Walter  are  in  each  other's  com 
pany,"  said  Mrs.  Marchand  to  the  father.  "They  are  more 
like  ardent  lovers,  and,  really,  I  don't  believe  that  either  of 
them  ever  gives  a  thought  to  the  question  of  marriage." 

"No,  I  reckon  not,"  answered  the  father.  "Well,  I  sup 
pose  Edith  will  take  a  fancy  to  some  one  some  of  these 
days." 

"I  doubt  it.  Edith  has,  at  intervals,  confided  in  me.  She 
loves  Walter  beyond  our  comprehension,  strange  as  it  may 
eeem.  And  Walter  likewise  loves  Edith.  It  is  indeed  a 
strange  affair.  Of  course,  they  can  never  marry  each  other, 
and  so  long  as  they  remain  together  as  they  are,  neither  of 
them  will  ever  take  a  fancy  for  another.  I  sometimes  feel 
that  there  must  be  some  mistake  about " 

"Beg  your  pardon,  mother,  I  must  telephone  to  Mr. 

about  a  little  matter,"  interrupted  the  old  gentleman,  as  he 
suddenly  arose  and  passed  into  the  library. 

"That  is  strange,"  thought  Mrs.  Marchand;  "he  has  ap 
parently  evaded  a  conversation  on  that  subject  several  times. 
I  do  not  understand  it.  Can  there  be  some  mystery  con 
nected  with  his  family?"  mused  the  wife.  "If  so,  certain 
ly  the  brother  and  sister  are  in  complete  ignorance  of  it. 
Oh,  well,  I  suppose  it  is  just  his  way,  and  I  will  not  allow  my 
mind  to  become  beclouded  with  suspicion,  for  it  would  bring 
nothing  but  unrest  and  discontent,  and  the  Lord  knows  I've 
had  my  portion  of  that." 

Her  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  the  return  of  Edith  and 
Walter,  who,  having  adjourned  court,  as  they  said,  had  be 
gun  the  discussion  of  economic  questions  and  politics.  Wal- 

172 


THE  STRANGE  OLD  MAN 

ter  had  been,  for  some  time,  making  a  study  of  the  trade 
conditions  •of  the  United  States  with  Latin-America,  and 
to  him  it  became  quite  an  interesting  subject. 

"Why  do  you  devote  your  attention  to  that  subject,  my 
son,  while  matters  of  local  government,  local  affairs,  are  in 
such  deplorable  condition  as  would,  seemingly,  demand  your 
whole  time  and  attention,"  asked  the  father,  who  had  just 
entered  the  room. 

"I  suppose  one  might  as  well  ask  the  Ben  Davis  apple  why 
it  is  red,  or  the  mule  why  it  has  long  ears.  It  is  just  the 
nature  of  the  brute,  as  the  saying  goes.  But,  to  be  more 
serious,  I  would  say  that,  when  I  first  learned  that  the  United 
States  enjoyed  less  than  ten  per  cent  of  the  La  tin- Ameri 
can  trade,  I  was  astonished  and  naturally  began  to  search  for 
the  cause." 

"Now,  why  should  such  a  question  bother  you,  as  you  are 
not  an  importing  nor  an  exporting  merchant?"  replied  the 
father. 

"Because  Latin-America  is  very  close  to  our  Gulf  ports, 
and  whatever  increase  of  trade  there  may  be  with  those 
countries,  the  majority  of  it  will  pass  through  those  ports, 
thereby  benefiting  the  Gulf  coast  country  in  the  way  of  ad 
ditional  business  enterprises,  additional  railroad  facilities, 
and  the  development  of  the  country,  generally." 

"How  would  that  benefit  you,  individually?"  queried  the 
father. 

"I  am  happy  to  state  that  I  am  able  to  eliminate  self  and 
study  the  question  from  the  standpoint  of  my  country's  wel 
fare." 

"What  is  the  cause  of  our  failure  to  capture  the  Latin- 

173 


NORKOMA 

American  trade,  since  we  are  such  close  neighbors?"  queried 
Edith. 

"There  are  several  causes.  One,  and  I  think  the  most 
formidable  reason,  is  that  our  exporters  have  never  sought 
that  trade  in  the  proper  manner.  The  Latin-American  coun 
tries,  you  know,  were  for  centuries  European  colonies,  and 
were  naturally  compelled  to  do  their  trading  with  the  mother 
countries.  When  they  threw  off  the  yoke  of  bondage,  their 
merchants  naturally  clung  to  the  old  channels  of  trade  to 
which  they  had  been  accustomed  so  long.  The  rising  gen 
erations,  one  after  another,  were  educated  in  the  schools  and 
colleges  of  Europe,  where  they  continually  cemented  the  old 
friendships  and  renewed  the  acquaintances  of  their  fathers, 
thus  creating  an  influence  that  the  American  merchant  would 
find  difficult  to  overcome." 

"Yes,  I  should  judge  that  the  matter  of  their  being  edu 
cated  in  Europe  would  be  a  strong  influence  in  case  any 
large  number  of  them  were  so  educated,"  replied  the  father. 

"From  the  most  reliable  sources  I  learn  that  about  twenty- 
five  thousand  Latin-American  students  are  to  be  found,  an 
nually,  in  the  schools  and  colleges  of  Europe.  They  are  of 
the  wealthy  class,  and,  of  course,  of  those  who  do  the  busi 
ness  hi  Latin-America,  so  you  may  well  judge  what  an  in 
fluence  it  has  upon  the  trade  of  those  countries." 

"What  remedy  can  there  be  suggested  for  this  condition, 
if  any?"  queried  Edith. 

"As  to  that,  I  am  not  now  prepared  to  say,  but  I  have 
noticed  in  the  newspapers  that  over  in  Texas  they  are  ad 
vocating  the  establishment  of  a  Pan-American  College  of 
Commerce,  and  while  I  am  not  as  yet  fully  acquainted  with 
the  proposition,  I  would  not  be  surprised  if  those  Texans 

174 


THE  STRANGE  OLD  MAN 

have  solved  the  problem.  I  shall  acquaint  myself  with  the 
details  of  the  plan  suggested  by  them.  At  any  rate,  the  edu 
cation  of  twenty-five  thousand  Latin-American  students,  an 
nually,  in  the  schools  of  Europe,  appears  to  me  to  be  the 
greatest  barrier  to  the  progress  of  the  United  States  making 
inroads  upon  the  trade  of  those  countries." 

"What  is  the  nature  of  this  propsed  Pan-American  Col 
lege  of  Commerce,  now  being  advocated  in  Texas  ?  I  remem 
ber  reading  something  of  it,  but  gave  it  no  consideration.  I 
must  confess  that  I  am  becoming  somewhat  interested,"  said 
LeBerte  Marchand. 

"If  I  comprehend,  it  is  to  be  an  institution  wherein  there 
shall  be  taught  and  exemplified  the  languages,  habits,  cus 
toms,  usages,  wants  and  needs  of  all  the  Americas,  and  where 
in  there  will  be  on  permanent  display  and  exposition  all  the 
articles  of  commerce  that  would  be  interchangeable,  or  that 
would  be  marketed  in  any  of  those  countries." 

"My  boy,  you  are  working  upon  a  mighty  big  question. 
It  is  one  which  is  vastly  important  to  our  whole  country, 
and  of  particular  benefit  to  our  Gulf  coast  country.  Here 
after,  I  shall  feel  a  deep  interest  in  the  subject,  and  will  be 
pleased  to  discuss  it  with  you  from  time  to  time." 

Further  discussion  of  the  subject  was  deferred,  the  servant 
having  announced  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Butler. 

"Tell  him  to  come  right  on  in  here,"  said  Walter,  cast 
ing  a  roguish  eye  at  Edith,  who,  fleeing  from  the  room  and 
looking  pleasantly  at  Walter  over  her  shoulder  as  she  went, 
said: 

"You  naughty  old  brother." 

"I  trust  you  will  pardon  my  intrusion,"  said  Butler,  as  he 
entered,  "but  by  a  stroke  of  fortune,  good  or  ill,  I  know  not 

175 


NORKOMA 

which,  some  important  business  fell  into  my  hands,  which  I 
desired  to  turn  to  my  friends,  and,  as  prompt  attention  is 
required,  I  thought  it  best  to  come  directly  to  'The  Cedars.' '" 

•'Why,  Mr.  Butler,  you  are  always  welcome  under  this  roof, 
day  or  night,  rain  or  shine.  No  intrustion,  I  assure  you. 
What  is  the  nature  of  the  business?''  replied  Mr.  Marchancl. 

"It  is  about  a  strange  old  man  who  was  brought  in  on  a 
tramp  steamer  this  evening.  He  can  not  speak  a  word  of 
English,  nor  of  any  other  language  that  is  intelligible  to  the 
various  nationalities  down  on  the  wharves.  It  seems  he  was 
picked  up  along  or  near  the  Florida  coast  after  the  storm,  a 
few  days  ago.  Where  he  came  from,  or  how  he  managed 
to  survive  the  storm  on  the  waters  of  the  Gulf  in  the  wreck 
of  a  craft  to  which  he  clung  when  found  by  the  tramp  steamer 
is  a  mystery  to  those  who  rescued  him,  so  they  say.  The 
greater  mystery,  however,  is  the  large  collection  of  valuable 
jewels,  or  pearls,  which  he  had  with  him  when  rescued. 

"One  of  the  men  on  the  ship  told  me  that  the  market  value 
of  the  pearls  would  exceed  a  million  dollars.  And  now  to 
the  business  part  of  it.  I  was  at  the  wharf  when  the  boat 
came  in.  Immediately  upon  its  being  landed,  this  strange 
old  man  was  rushed  down  the  gang  plank  by  two  big,  burly 
fellows,  acting  under  orders  of  the  Captain,  and  upon  reach 
ing  the  wharf,  they  tried  to  drive  him  away. 

"Speaking  no  language  recognizable  or  understood  by  any 
one  present,  the  old  fellow  protested  against  this  harsh  treat 
ment  in  the  only  manner  he  knew,  and  by  his  actions  indi 
cated  that  he  was  being  torn  from  some  object  most  dear 
to  him.  I  approached  him,  thinking  I  might  be  of  service. 
He  looked  appealingly  into  my  eyes  for  a  moment,  then 
quickly  placing  one  hand  over  his  heart  and  the  other  hand 


upon  his  forehead,  bowed  almost  to  the  ground.  As  he  then 
stood  erect,  he  handed  me  this  large  pearl.  I  looked  at  it, 
first  thinking  of  its  intrinsic  value,  then  wondered  what  con 
nection  it  could  have  with  the  distress  of  the  strange  old 
man.  Suddenly,  pointing  to  the  jewel  in  my  hand,  then 
pointing  to  the  ship,  he  indicated  that  a  great  many  more 
pearls  were  withheld  from  him  there. 

"I  began  to  comprehend  his  meaning.  I  hailed  one  of  the 
men  who  came  from  the  boat,  and  he  told  me  of  the  old 
man's  rescue,  and  of  the  pearls,  most  of  which  the  officers 
of  the  boat  had  confiscated.  Immediately  I  arranged  an 
understanding  with  this  man,  and  then  set  about  to  re 
cover  the  jewels  for  my  poor  old  man.  I  went  upon  the 
boat  and-  demanded  the  jewels.  I  was  informed  that  it  would 
be  safer  for  me  on  dry  land,  and  I  took  kindly  to  the  hint. 
Then  I  came  here  to  interest  you  gentlemen  in  the  matter." 

"What  became  of  the  strange  old  man?  Perhaps  he  is 
at  the  bottom  of  the  river,  now,"  said  Walter. 

"Oh,  no,  I  put  him  in  the  -  -  private  sanitarium,  where 
no  one  is  to  even  see  him  except  upon  my  direction.  He  is 
safe." 

"And  your  informer,  your  witness — what  became  of  him  ?" 
inquired  the  elder  Marchand. 

"He  is  at  the  home  of  one  of  our  friends  and  will  remain 
quiet  until  further  orders." 

"And  what  about  the  officers  of  the  ship  ?  They  will  prob 
ably  carry  away  and  secrete  the  treasure  during  the  night," 
said  W alter. 

"I  do  not  think  they  will,  as  there  are  a  number  of  detec 
tives  on  watch,  and  every  move  made  on  board  the  ship 
will  be  carefully  noted,  while  if  any  of  them  leave  the  boat 

177 


NORKOMA 

during  the  night,  they  will  be  followed  and  duly  accounted 
for." 

"Butler,  you  are  a  wonder/'  said  LeBerte  Marchand.  "You 
have  the  cunning  of  a  detective,  the  tact  and  foresight  of 
a  lawyer,  and,  above  all,  the  moral  courage  to  strike  down 
evil  whenever  and  wherever  you  find  it.  Let  me  congratulate 
you." 

"I  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  compliment,  though  I  do  not 
deserve  it.  I  now  place  this  matter  in  charge  of  your  law  firm, 
and  as  a  retainer  fee,  I  tender  this  jewel,"  replied  Butler, 
handing  the  pearl  to  Walter,  who,  refusing  to  accept  it,  said: 

"Why,  bless  you,  generous  old  boy,  I  would  not  think  of 
accepting  any  kind  of  a  fee  from  you.  Besides,  as  you  are 
so  averse  to  the  wearing  of  jewelry  and  so  fond  of  its  dis 
play  by  the  fairer  sex,  I  doubt  whether  you  will  be  long  bur 
dened  with  that  beautiful  gem." 

Having  finished  the  business  for  which  he  came,  Butler 
departed,  leaving  the  father  and  son  to  discuss  the  strange 
incident  in  its  various  legal  aspects,  and  to  wonder  what 
could  be  the  past  history  and  the  future  of  the  "Strange  Old 
Man." 


178 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 


CHAPTER  XX. 
MUNICIPAL  POLITICS. 

One  morning.,  not  long  after  the  events  last  narrated,  the 
telephone  in  the  offices  of  Marchand  &  Marchand  rang  vio 
lently. 

"Is  Walter  there?"  questioned  the  speaker  over  the  'phone. 

"Who  is  that  ?"  replied  the  office  boy. 

"None  of  your business ;  I  want  to  speak  to  Walter.'' 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Walter  Marchand  ?" 

"Yes,  I  mean  Mr.  Walter  Marchand.  If  I  had  hold  of 
you  I'd  twist  your  head  off." 

"Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon.  I'll  see  if  Mr.  Walter  Marchand 
is  here." 

Walter  Marchand  was  present,  and  picking  up  the  'phone, 
began : 

"Hello,  who  is  speaking?" 

"Hello,  Walter.  Say,  have  you  decided  whether  or  not 
you  will  stand  for  re-election?" 

"Beg  your  pardon,  but  to  whom  am  I  talking?  You  have 
not  yet  informed  me." 

"Why,  dad  burn  it,  I  am  Joe  Butler.  Don't  you  know  my 
voice  ?" 

"I  thought  I  recognized  your  voice,  but,  but " 

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NORKOMA 

"But  what?  Can't  you  answer  my  question?  I'm  in  a 
hurry." 

"Where  are  you?" 

"I'm  in  my  office.    What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Well,  I'll  come  to  your  office.  So  long."  Walter  hung 
the  trumpet  in  the  receiver  and  started  for  Butler's  office. 

"Confound  that  fellow,"  said  Butler  to  himself.  "He  takes 
spells,  at  times,  and  closes  up  like  a  clam.  I  reckon  he  is 
about  to  conclude  that  he  has  had  enough  of  politics,  and 
throw  us  all  down." 

Butler,  as  has  been  previously  noted,  was  afflicted  with 
the  habit  of  talking  to  himself,  or  soliloquizing.  He  seldom 
pursued  this  practice,  or  habit,  at  times  and  places  where 
he  would  probably  be  overheard,  but,  like  the  criminal,  he 
was  caught  when  he  least  expected  it.  Like  most  newspaper 
men,  he  began  looking  out  for  the  harvest  that  was  fast  rip 
ening.  There  was  a  political  campaign  about  to  open  up, 
and  Butler  was  anxious  to  get  his  harvesting  machinery  in 
trim  for  the  reaping.  While  he  thus  talked  aloud  to  him 
self  about  the  political  situation,  he  had  not  observed  the 
appearance  at  the  office  door  of  his  listener,  who,  after  a 
while,  surprised  Butler  by  saying: 

"That's  right,  Butler.  By  Jove,  there  is  no  use  letting 
the  other  dailies  take  the  cream,  and  the  Telegram  take 
skimmed  milk  in  this  campaign.  There's  going  to  be  a 
merry  time  of  it,  I  tell  you,  and  you  may  as  well  make 
hay." 

"By  George,  Mr.  Fletcher,  you  surprised  me  that  time, 
to  a  certainty.  Well,  since  you  caught  me  red  handed,  come 
in  and  be  seated.  I  want  to  have  a  word  with  you,  anyhow, 
before  Marchand  gets  here." 

180 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 

"All  right,  I  am  at  your  sendee.    What  is  it?" 

"You  indicated  to  me  some  time  ago  that  you  would  like 
to  have  my  interest  in  this  plant.  ISTow,  if  you  are  of  the 
same  mind  still,  I  would  like  to  come  to  an  understanding, 
this  very  day." 

"Why  this  very  day  ?"  asked  Mr.  Fletcher. 

"I  have  reasons  that  I  do  not  care  to  mention.  I  might 
say,  however,  that  it  is  bad  policy  for  a  newspaper  to  change 
mangement  in  the  middle  of  a  campaign,  and,  if  there  is 
to  be  any  change,  I  want  it  to  be  made  now." 

"Well,  Butler,  of  course  I  was  somewhat  irritated  about 
the  back  tax  matter  when  I  made  that  suggestion,  but  Mar- 
chand  and  I  are  getting  on  nicely  now,  and  I  am  not  certain 
that  there  is  any  necessity  for  a  change." 

"Of  course,  you  will  support  Marchand  for  re-election,  if 
lie  seeks  it?" 

"I  had  not  heard  that  he  would  seek  to  be  re-elected." 

"He  may  not.  But  if  lie  does,  will  you  support  him? 
That  is  what  I  want  to  know." 

"Eeally,  I  had  not  thought  about  the  matter.  However,  I 
think  he  has  done  real  well.  I  should  .think  he  would  have 
no  trouble  in  being  re-elected." 

"Ha,  ha,  ha !  Fletcher,  you  are  as  slippery  as  an  eel. 
I'll  say  this  to  you,  Fletcher,  that  if  I  remain  with  this  in 
stitution,  the  Telegram  will  support  Marchand,  first,  last 
and  all  through  the  campaign.  Now,  if  that  policy  doesn't 
suit  you,  let  us  get  right  down  to  a  complete  understanding. 
I  don't  care  to  mince  at  the  thing." 

"Well,  you  have  made  a  success  of  this  institution,  and 
you  are  making  good  money.  If  you  disposed  of  your  in 
terest,  where  could  you  better  yourself?" 

181 


NORKOMA 

"Really,  friend  Fletcher,  I  believe  I  could  manage  to  find 
a  situation  somewhere  in  this  city.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"No  doubt,  but  you  would  not  abandon  newspaper  work, 
would  you?" 

"Not  until  after  this  campaign  is  over,  certainly.  In 
short,  I  intend  to  follow  Marchand's  lead  and  support  him 
in  whatever  that  lead  may  be,  and  in  that  I  will  not  be 
alone." 

"Do  you  think  the  people  will  flock  to  his  support  as 
they  did  before?" 

"Will  they?  Who  knows  that  they  will,  better  than  you? 
Besides,  we  will  have  a  full  municipal  ticket  in  the  field, 
this  time." 

"Yes,  I  heard  you  telling  yourself  about  it,  when  I  came, 
a  while  ago.  But  won't  that  weaken  your  forces?" 

"No.     It  will  add  strength,  instead." 

"Suppose  you  can't  get  your  men  nominated  by  the  party. 
What  then?" 

"To  thunder  with  the  party.  Who  is  the  party?  A  few 
political  bosses  have  been  the  party,  but  there  will  be  a  new 
deal  this  time." 

"I  imagine  that  you  will  find  it  a  difficult  matter  to  get 
hold  of  the  machinery  of  the  party.  Of  course,  you  might 
organize  a  new  party,  but  you  know  the  people  won't  take 
well  to  that  method." 

"The  people  are  more  interested  in  good  local  government 
right  now  than  in  local  party  lines.  What  have  party  lines 
to  do  with  local  government,  anyhow?  The  government  is 
of,  for  and  by  the  people.  If  each  citizen  would  take  a  per 
sonal  interest  in  our  local  government,  then  we  would  have 
a  government  by  the  people.  As  it  has  been,  only  those 

182 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 

who  had  an  interest  in  the  party  took  part  in  our  municipal 
politics,  and  the  result  was  that  our  city  was  governed  by 
political  party  bosses." 

"\Yell,  I  think  you  are  right  to  a  degree,  only." 

"Xo  one  knows  the  truth  of  that  statement  better  than 
you,  Mr.  Fletcher.  Your  own  ears  have,  in  the  past,  tingled 
with  the  cry  of  'Boss  Fletcher.' }: 

"Oh,  yes,  but  that  never  scared  me.  People  like  bosses  in 
politics.  The  people  could  do  nothing  without  bosses.  They 
have  got  to  have  a  leader." 

"Certainly,  a  leader,  but  not  a  boss  with  a  big  stick.  Boss- 
ism  in  municipal  government  results  from  a  lack  or  a  neglect 
of  the  good  citizens  to  do  their  duty." 

"Well,  how  will  you  'organize  your  new  deal,  as  you  call 
it?  You  will  necessarily  have  to  organize  a  party,  won't 
you  ?" 

"In  a  sense,  yes,  But  it  will  be  the  party  of  the  whole 
people.  It  will  be  of  the  citizens  of  our  city  who  are  for 
honest  government,  for  all  our  people,  instead  of  government 
for  the  few,  as  heretofore.'' 

"I  don't  catch  your  meaning,  Mr.  Butler.  Elaborate  a 
little,  please/' 

"All  right.  Heretofore,  our  city  government  was  ap 
parently  operated  by  Fletcher,  Johnson,  Smith,  Black,  White, 
and  a  few  others.  It  was  operated  for  the  particular  benr-Jit 
of  those  who  did  the  operating.  You  know  that,  don't  you?" 

"Well,  proceed." 

"To  be  a  little  more  explicit,  I  might  add  that,  when  you 
were  an  official,  you  entertained  a  particular  fellow  feeling 
for  Johnson,  Smith,  White,  Black,  and  those  same  'few  oth 
ers'  that  helped  push  the  band  wagon  during  the  campaign. 

183 


NORKOMA 

That  fellow  feeling  caused  you  to  grant  special  favors  to 
those  named,  and  their  class,  that  were  not  granted  to  the 
people  generally.  Is  that  not  so,  Mr.  Pletcher?" 

"Well,  I  am  listening — go  ahead." 

"You  are  a  good  listener,  I  observe.  When  I  talk,  I  want 
a  man  to  agree  with  me  or  disagree.  Of  all  the  men  in  the 
world,  Pletcher,  you  are  in  a  better  position  to  agree  with 
me,  or  disagree  and  refute  my  statements.  You  do  neither, 
and  I  shall  not  waste  my  breath.  Here  comes  Marchand." 

"Good  morning,  gentlemen/'  said  Walter,  as  he  entered  the 
office.  "Hope  I  am  not  intruding." 

"Not  at  all,  old  fellow.  Have  a  seat,"  said  Butler.  "We 
have  been  discussing  political  matters.  I  have  ventured  the 
suggestion  to  Pletcher  that  the  coming  city  campaign  would 
find  an  entire  new  ticket  in  the  field." 

'Indeed,"  said  Walter,  in  a  rather  uninterested  manner. 

"What  do  you  say  about  it,  Marchand?"  asked  Pletcher. 

"I  know  nothing  about  it,  and  can  say  nothing  at  this 
time,"  replied  Walter. 

"Would  you  be  willing  to  head  the  new  ticket,  say  for 
Mayor,  if  we  could  select  suitable  candidates  right  down  the 
line?"  asked  Pletcher,  speaking  to  Walter. 

"What  do  you  mean,  when  you  use  the  word  'we'  ?"  queried 
Walter. 

"WTell,  you  might  construe  it  to  mean  a  committee  of  the 
people." 

"If  the  committee  be  appointed  by  the  people,  and  after 
the  selection  is  made,  the  candidates  are  indorsed  by  the 
people,  I  would  not  be  averse  to  the  proposition.  But  I 
would  never  consent  to  any  dark  lantern  arrangement,"  re 
plied  Walter. 

184 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 

"The  people  do  not  all  take  an  interest  in  the  selection  of 
candidates  for  office/'  said  Butler,  "but  depend  upon  those 
who  put  themselves  forward  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  out 
the  list  of  candidates,  then  the  people  make  their  selection 
from  the  list.  If  we  were  to  call  a  mass  meeting  of  the  citi 
zens  for  the  purpose  of  making  up  a  ticket,  the  people  at 
the  meeting  would  be  absolutely  at  sea,  as  it  were,  unless 
there  were  leaders  present  to  direct  the  proceedings,  and, 
in  the  end,  do  just  what  a  few  can  do  at  a  little  caucus.  At 
any  rate,  whatever  we  do,  if  anything  at  all,  must  be  more 
or  less  'cut  and  dried,'  as  the  saying  goes,  until  our  party  is 
thoroughly  organized.  After  that,  we  can  arrange  for  gen 
eral  primaries  for  nominating  purposes,  in  which  every  citi 
zen  may  have  a  voice  by  the  casting  of  his  ballot." 

"Now,  you  are  beginning  to  get  down  to  the  rights  of 
the  people.  Whenever  we  have  a  public  primary  election  for 
the  purpose  of  nominating  our  candidates  for  office,  instead 
of  the  corrupt  convention  method,  the  people  who  ought  to 
compose  this  government  will  then  have  a  voice  in  the  govern 
ment,"  said  Walter. 

"I  agree  with  you,  Mr.  Marchand,"  replied  Fletcher;  "be 
sides,  the  convention  system  is  too  expensive  for  the  man  of 
small  means." 

"Not  alone  that,"  said  Walter,  "but  under  the  convention 
system,  a  poor  man  can  never  hope  to  receive  a  nomination 
for  an  office  of  any  consequence.  The  convention  system  is 
contrary  to  the  primary  principles  of  a  democratic  form  of 
government,  wherein  all  the  people  are  component  parts.  Be 
sides,  conventions  and  convention  methods  have  become  so 
corrupt,  so  boss-ridden,  so  absolutely  ruled  and  run  by  rings 

185 


and  bosses,  that  it  has  brought  about  the  'government  by 
the  few/  instead  of  government  by  the  people." 

"But  there  must  be  first  created  a  sentiment,  and  that 
sentiment  must  be  backed  up  by  the  votes  of  the  people  in 
the  election  of  the  very  men  who  will  produce  and  bring 
about  the  proper  condition  in  the  form  of  a  law  which  will 
give  to  the  people  the  primary  election  system,  in  the  place 
of  what  we  now  have,"  said  Butler. 

"Certainly,  there  must  be  a  beginning,"  returned  Walter, 
as  he  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  began  scanning  its  pages,  in 
a  listless  way. 

"Well,  are  you  not  willing  to  join  in  the  movement  to 
either  get  control  of  the  machinery  of  one  of  the  local  fac 
tions,  or  to  put  a  new  party  in  the  field?"  asked  Fletcher, 
rather  irritably. 

"No,  not  if  I  am  to  be  one  of  the  'cut  and  dried'  nominees 
of  the  concern,"  replied  Walter. 

"Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  the  people  expect  you  to  take  a 
leading  part  in  the  politics  and  management  of  affairs. 
They  believe  in  you,  they  have  confidence  in  your  good  judg 
ment,  your  honesty  and  your  ability.  They  will  gladly  fol 
low  your  lead,  as  they  have  done  and  are  doing.  You  can 
be  useful  to  them,  if  you  will,"  said  Butler,  rather  impa 
tiently. 

"You  are  working  upon  a  proposition  that  is  a  great  deal 
harder  to  solve  than  you  now  imagine,"  replied  Walter.  "I 
realize  that  a  fight  against  bossism  in  city  affairs,  in  order 
to  be  successful,  must  be  followed  up  by  state  laws,  provid 
ing  for  a  straight-out  primary  election  system  for  the  nom 
ination  of  all  candidates  for  public  office,  coupled  with  all 
the  safeguards  of  a  stringent  election  law.  Without  this, 

186 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 

there  will  continue  to  exist  the  usual  unfair  and  dishonest 
caucuses,  conventions,  and  'cut  and  dried'  proceedings  in 
which  the  people  have  but  little,  if  any,  part,  but  with  which 
the  boss  with  the  big  stick  will  disappear  to  a  greater  or  less 
extent.  I  realize,  also,  that  a  condition,  a  real  bad  condi 
tion  confronts  us,  and  that  all  the  theorizing  and  preaching 
we  can  do  will  amount  to  nothing  without  action.  Action 
must  be  taken  if  the  people  are  to  ever  come  into  their  own 
rights,  but  can  we  make  this  plain  fact  understood?" 

"Yes,  by  thunder,  we  can,"  roared  Fletcher,  who  now  saw 
the  glimpse  of  a  new  light,  a  new  world.  He  saw  a  condi 
tion  where  he  would  be  the  real  leader  of  a  new  party,  suc 
cessful,  perhaps,  beyond  his  fondest  hopes.  A  party  stripped 
of  deception,  drudgery,  slavery  and  fear.  He  would  then  be 
the  master,  whereas  he  had  before  been  the  slave.  He  would 
stalk  out  among  his  former  masters  and  crack  the  lash  over 
their  backs.  How  they  would  wince  and  cringe  at  his  feet! 
How  they  would  then  lick  his  hand  and  whimper  like  little 
puppies !  Yes,  there  was  but  one  road  for  him  to  take.  Now 
was  the  very  hour,  the  very  minute  to  strike  the  hot  iron  and 
weld  to  it  the  steel  of  Marchand  and  Butler,  which  would 
be  but  the  beginning.  This  was  an  opportunity  now,  and  to 
let  the  golden  moment  pass  without  improving  would  be  folly. 
Then  rising  to  his  feet,  Fletcher  continued: 

"Boys,  let  me  tell  you  what  will  win  for  the  people,  and 
win  easy.  First,  I  will  set  myself  aright  before  the  world, 
as  a  man  convicted  of  wrong  and  converted  to  right.  I  am 
ready  and  willing  to  settle  with  the  city,  paying  any  and 
all  just  indebtedness  I  may  owe,  and  shall  use  all  due  effort 
to  compel  others  to  do  likewise.  On  that  score  I  am  now 
absolved  from  accusation.  More,  I  want  to  see  the  city  gov- 

187 


NORKOMA 

erned  by  the  officers  whom  the  whole  people  shall  nominate 
and  elect.  Walter  is  right  when  he  says  we  must  have  law 
to  afford  the  people  their  rights  in  this  respect,  and  that 
there  must  be  a  beginning.  Some  two,  three  or  more  brave, 
honest,  fearless  men  must  start  the  movement,  and  once 
started,  it  will  not  stop  if  we  use  the  proper  methods.  Some 
times  the. devil  must  be  fought  with  fire.  We  may  have  to 
use  fire  in  the  beginning,  or  at  least  sound  discretion.  The 
Daily  Clarion  can  be  won  over  to  our  party,  body  and  soul, 
for  I  now  virtually  own  the  majority  of  the  stock  and  can 
procure  sufficient  of  what  remains  to  cinch  that  proposition. 

'^You  know  what  it  would  mean  for  the  Claxion  and  Tele 
gram  to  strike  out  boldly  for  the  cause  of  right,  and  on  the 
side  of  the  people.  If  you  doubt  my  sincerity  longer,  for  1 
see  you  were  doubtful,  please  tell  me  what  you  require  of 
me  to  remove  your  doubt." 

"No,  Fletcher,  you  have  convinced  me  that  you  are  in 
earnest.  But  bossism  can  not  be  subdued  until  the  people 
realize  the  power  and  influence  of  their  own  individual  and 
collective  ballots.  They  can  be  made  to  understand  this,  it 
seems,  only  in  the  school  of  calamity/'  replied  Walter. 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Fletcher.  "They  can  be  made  to  see.  The 
campaign  of  education  which  we  shall  invoke  through  the 
Telegram  and  the  Clarion  will  do  the  work.  We  will  then 
carry  our  campaign  into  the  State  Legislature,  and,  if  you 
think  it  proper  that  I  sacrifice  myself  upon  the  altar  of  my 
country's  welfare,  I'll  submit  my  name  for  ^Representative, 
and,  if  elected,  will  strike  a  blow  at  bossism  that  will  have 
a  telling  effect." 

"Now,  I  know  you  have  your  heart  in  the  cause,"  said 
Butler.  "True  reform  can  never  come  through  the  politi- 

188 


MUNICIPAL  POLITICS 

cians,  but  must  be  forced  by  an  awakened,  conscientious  pub 
lic,  acting  through  fearless,  honest,  intelligent  and  perse 
vering  public  servants.  Are  you  willing  to  join  us  now  in 
the  effort  of  reform,  of  which  thus  far  obtained  you  are 
a  part  and  parcel?"  said  Butler,  directing  the  question  to 
Walter. 

"Yes,  I  suppose  there  is  no  other  way.  I  will  admit  that 
I  have  become  discouraged  with  the  lack  of  interest  on  the 
part  of  the  people.  They  seem  to  feel  that  by  taking  a  little 
spurt  and  electing  one  man  to  office,  that  he  will  revolution 
ize  the  whole  world.  But  it  takes  more  than  the  public  of 
ficer.  It  requires  the  constant  backing  up  of  the  officer  by 
the  people/' 

"Well,  old  fellow,"  said  Fletcher,  "you  have  done  more 
good  than  you  think  for,  even  alone  in  your  work,  as  you 
thought.  You  have  reformed  me,  and  you  have  whipped  the 
Mayor  and  every  Councilman  into  silent  submission  to  the 
payment  of  their  back  taxes.  Your  dogged  tenacity  and 
fearless  integrity  in  office  have  given  the  people  the  courage 
to  believe  that  there  is  some  honor  in  public  officials,  if  the 
right  man  is  selected.  The  ring  leaders  and  political  bosses 
are  nonplussed  right  now,  so  that  they  have  not  the  courage 
to  take  a  bold  stand  against  you  or  any  other  man  who  de 
clares  himself  for  honest  government.  JSTo,  sir,  my  boy,  you 
little  know  the  vast  good  you  have  done,  and  you  probably 
never  will  fully  know." 

"I  am  mighty  glad  we  happened,  by  chance  as  it  were,  to 
meet  here  and  fall  into  this  friendly  compact,"  said  Butler, 
slyly  winking  on  the  side  to  Marchand.  "But  since  it  has 
occurred,  and  has  resulted  so  nicely,  let  us  not  lose  any  time 
in  extending  our  preparations.  Suppose  you  acquire  suf- 

189 


NORKOMA 

ficient  stock  in  the  Clarion,  Mr.  Fletcher,  to  make  up  a  two- 
thirds  ownership,  and  I  will  relieve  you  of  a  part  of  it.  Then 
suppose  we  have  a  meeting  tomorrow  afternoon,  inviting  sev 
eral  of  the  strong,  plain,  honest  people  who  have  had  little 
to  do  with  politics  in  the  past.  Afterwards  we  can  extend  our 
circle  by  rapid  degrees.  When  all  is  in  readiness,  then  lot 
the  thunders  roar  and  the  lightnings  flash." 

"It  is  a  go,"  replied  Fletcher  with  delight,  "and  the  Storm 
King  shall  rage." 

"Well,"  said  Walter,  rather  amusedly,  and  with  dry  hu 
mor,  "don't  you  think  a  little  earthquaking  would  help 
the  cause?" 


190 


GUARDIAN  OF  THE  ESTATE 


CHAPTER  XXI. 
GUARDIAN  OF  THE  ESTATE. 

LeBerte  Marchand  had  not  been  as  happy  of  late  years  as 
he  had  hoped  for,  nor  as  he  made  appear  upon  the  surface. 
There  was  ample  cause  for  his  silent,  inward  grief.  He  had 
seen  his  son  and  daughter  grow  to  manhood  and  woman 
hood.,  knowing  there  existed  between  them  a  unity  of  holy 
love,  not  the  love  of  brother  and  sisiter,  and  which,  perhaps, 
precluded  a  kindred  relation  between  either  of  them  and  any 
other  living  soul.  Both  were  rapidly  passing  that  stage  in 
their  lives  when  they  would  most  likely  form  an  attachment 
for  another,  if  such  could  ever  occur  under  the  circumstances. 

It  was  a  strange  case  indeed.  LeBerte  Marchand  had 
looked  on  and  hoped,  year  by  year,  that  either  Edith  or 
Walter  would,  form  a  close  attachment  for  another,  or  that 
something  would  occur  to  break  the  spell  that  held  them 
inseparably  bound  together.  Poor  old  man!  He  eould  not 
be  held  accountable  for  the  strange  condition  between  the 
two  children,  now  grown  up.  He  could  not  be  expected  to 
announce  to  them  and  to  the  world  that  they  were  not  broth 
er  and  sister;  that  Walter  was  not  his  son.  Even  the  closest 
friends  and  neighbors  of  the  old  gentleman  did  not  know  the 
facts  as  they  truly  existed.  They  believed,  as  they  had  a 
right  to  believe,  that  Walter  was  the  son,  the  blood  and  bone 
of  LeBerte  Marchand.  To  announce  to  the  contrary  at  this 

191 


NORKOMA 

late  day  would  be  to  invite  disbelief,  suspicion,  and  rife  spec 
ulation  as  to  his  family  affairs.  That,  he  could  not  find  in 
his  heart  to  permit.  He  could  not  now,  after  all  these  years, 
face  his  children  with  the  truth  that  they  were  not  brother 
and  sister.  They  would  scorn  him  for  this  deception.  He 
would  lose  their  love;  they  would  turn  away  from  him  in  his 
old  age,  and  he  would  be  left  alone  with  his  sorrow  and  their 
curses  to  attend  him  on  his  rapid  decline  to  the  grave. 

It  was,  indeed,  a  matter  that  afforded  good  grounds  for 
argument  upon  both  sides.  Edith  and  Walter  were  so 
wrapped  up  in  each  other's  love  and  affection  that  no  bar 
rier  had,  so  far,  made  its  way  between  them.  They  were 
both  well  matured,  and  both  realized  that  time  was  rapidly 
passing  by,  time  which  both  should  be  improving,  perhaps, 
around  the  hearthstone  of  their  own  separate  firesides.  Each 
realized  that  fact,  and  frequently  did  they  confidentially  dis 
cuss  the  question.  But  they  could  not,  so  intensely  inter 
esting  were  they,  each  to  the  other,  obtain  the  consent  of 
their  own  minds  and  hearts  to  break  the  loving  ties  that 
bound  them. 

Little  did  they  dream  that  the  same  blood  did  not  flow 
in  their  veins.  There  had  been  moments  in  Walter's  earlier 
days  when  the  faint  glimpse  of  old  "Aunt  Dinah"  flashed 
across  his  memory,  but  it  was  only  a  fleeting  glimpse.  Yes, 
and  in  a  sort  of  dreamy,  hazy  manner  did  the  shadow  of  a 
little  golden  locket  float  before  his  vision,  but  it  had  been 
only  a  passing  shadow.  As  years  swept  on,  those  fleeting 
visions  and  passing  shadows  grew  less  frequent,  and  finally 
the  curtain  of  forgetfulness  dropped  down  over  the  events 
of  the  past,  blotting  them  from  his  memory  forever,  unless, 

192 


per  chance,  they  should  be  revived  by  a  chain  of  circumstances 
and  incidents  which  the  future  might  hold  in  store. 

<rWho  knows  but  that  they  are  happier  as  brother  and 
sister  than  they  ever  could  be  as  husband  and  wife?"  said 
LeBerte  Marchand  to  himself,  at  intervals,  as  he  witnessed 
the  loving  tenderness  between  Edith  and  Walter.  "However 
much  I  might  desire  to  reveal  the  truth,  I  would  not  dare  to  do 
so  now,  for  many  reasons.  Having  grown  up  and  lived  togeth 
er  as  brother  and  sister,  they  could  never  harmonize  as  hus 
band  and  wife.  There  would  be  an  entire  lack  of  novelty 
and  romance  in  their  lives. 

"It  would  be  beyond  the  bounds  of  reason  to  ever  presume 
upon  their,  mutual  happiness  as  husband  and  wife.  Then, 
what  explanation  could  be  made  to  the  public,  to  society? 
Besides,  Walter  is  in  politics,  and  his  enemies  would  con 
tort  the  truth  into  ten  thousand  cruel,  infamous  lies.  They 
would  ruin  my  children,  my  wife  and  myself,  filling  our 
peaceful  and  happy  lives  with  sorrow,  sending  me  to  my 
grave,  perhaps  in  disgrace.  0  God,  grant  that  my  secrei 
may  be  carried  with  me  to  the  grave,  and  there  be  forever 
hidden,  as  shall  be  my  earthly  body/' 

Whatever  may  be  the  opinion  of  the  reader  as  to  the  course 
that  should  have  been  pursued,  certain  it  was  that  LeBerte 
Marchand  followed  the  course  which  he  deemed  best.  What 
ever  the  distress  of  mind  caused  by  the  existing  conditions, 
certain  it  was,  that  to  reveal  the  truth  now  would  bring 
greater  mental  distress,  not  only  to  LeBerte  Marchand,  but 
to  all  concerned.  Existing  conditions  were  brought  about 
by  fate.  There  was  no  planning,  scheming  or  conniving  on 
the  part  of  Marchand.  The  course  of  events  was  perfectly 

193 


NORKOMA 

natural,  and  4here  could  be  no  criticism  offered  to  the  con- 
duct  of  those  concerned,  perhaps. 

Sometimes  fate  is  cruel;  sometimes  it  is  kindly.  Fate  is 
something  over  which  no  man  has  the  least  control.  If  fate 
had  been  kind  to  the  Marchands  in  supplying  their  home 
with  the  much  needed  child,  why  should  Marchand,  after 
all  these  years,  proclaim  to  the  world  that  Walter  was  not 
his  son?  Fate  gave  to  him  a  noble  son,  and,  if  the  son 
were  to  ever  be  torn  from  him,  it  must  be  the  work  of  fate. 
On  that  point,  Marchand  had  become  well  determined.  Hav 
ing  finally  and  fully  determined  upon  this  course,  he  endeav 
ored"^  free  his  mind  from  the  oft  recurring  thoughts  by  giv 
ing  more  attention  to  business  affairs  than  had  of  late  been 
his  custom. 

When  the  case  of  the  strange  old  man,  as  related  in  a 
previous  chapter,  was  brought  to  his  firm,  LeBerte  Mar 
chand  became  quite  interested,  and  devoted  himself  to  an 
extended  research  into  the  mysteries  of  the  affair,  eo  far 
as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances.  It  will  be  re 
membered  that  his  client  could  speak  not  a  word  of  any 
language  that  was  understood  by  any  one  in  the  city  pr 
country  around,  though  weeks  were  spent  in  searching  for 
some  such  person.  One  peculiar  circumstance  connected 
with  the  strange  old  man's  affair  puzzled  Marchand  more 
than  one  would  have  thought.  Attached  to  the  leathern  belt 
which  surrounded  his  body  was  a  brass  button,  bearing  the 
impress  of  an  eagle  and  the  letters,  "IT.  S.,"  all  of  which 
characters  were  almost  obliterated  by  the  ravages  of  time. 
The  button  was  readily  recognized  as  a  United  States  army 
button,  but  how  it  came  into  the  possession  of  this  strange 

194 


GUARDIAN  OF  THE  ESTATE 

old  man  was  as  much  a  mystery  as  was  the  place  whence 
the  man  himself  came. 

The  fact  that  the  strange  old  man  had  been  picked  up 
off  the  Florida  coast,  following  a  severe  storm,  did  not  bear 
any  significance  to  the  average  person  learning  that  fact. 
To  LeBerte  Marchancl  it  would  not  have  borne  the  least 
significance  except  for  the  fact  that  he  had  been  some 
what  interested  in  a  former  report  to  the  effect  that  a  pe 
culiar  race  of  people  inhabited  the  Everglades  of  Florida.  He 
had  gathered  such  information  as  was  obtainable  and  had 
concluded  that  the  report  was  without  foundation.  His 
interest  in  the  subject  was  revived,  however,  by  the  peculiar 
ities  of  the  case  in  question. 

The  fact  that  the  strange  old  man  spoke  a  language  un 
known  to  all  classes  and  nationalities  represented  in  and 
about  the  City  of  New  Orleans,  was  sufficient  to  stimulate 
his  former  belief  that  it  was  barely  possible  that  the  Ever 
glades  were  inhabited.  True,  no  person  had  ever  succeeded 
in  making  a  personal  tour  throughout  these  great  swamps. 
That  was  given  up  to  be  an  utter  impossibility.  Many  per 
sons  had  ventured  a  short  distance  into  the  Glades  but  re 
turned  with  the  conviction  that  no  human  being  could 
thoroughly  traverse  them,  while  others  who  made  the  at 
tempt  were  never  heard  from,  and  what  their  fate  may  have 
been  could  only  be  surmised. 

To  LeBerte  Marchand  the  mystery  surrounding  the  old 
man  was  of  no  greater  interest  than  was  the  peculiar  char 
acter  of  the  estate  or  fortune,  consisting  of  a  large  collection 
of  the  most  valuable  pearls.  It  appeared  wholly  incredible 
that  this  strange  being  should  be  possessed  of  such  an  estate. 
In  value,  there  could  be  but  the  merest  guess  by  any  one 

195 


NORKOMA 

not  veil  versed  in  the  jewelry  market.  Those  who  made  pre- 
tentions  of  knowing  variously  estimated  the  value  up  into 
the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dollars.  But  such  estimates 
were  merely  guesses. 

It  was  sufficient  for  the  Marchands  and  Butler  to  know 
that  the  strange  old  man  was  being  deprived  of  a  part  of 
his  property,  no  matter  what  the  value.  They  were  not 
prompted  to  defend  and  protect  his  rights  by  a  spirit  of 
avarice.  They  knew,  of  course,  that  they  would  be  compen 
sated,  but  the  work  had  been  undertaken  by  Butler,  prompted 
by  a  spirit  of  fair  dealing  with  the  old  man,  and  at  a  time 
when  there  could  have  been  no  knowledge,  upon  his  part, 
of  this  untold  wealth. 

The  Marchands  were  interested  in  the  matter,  first,  on  ac 
count  of  their  friend  Butler,  and  would  have  rendered  their 
services  gratuitously,  had  it  appeared  necessary.  Such  were 
the  feelings  and  friendship  betwixt  them.  The  develop 
ment  of  the  fact  that  in  connection  with  the  matter  there 
was  great  compensation,  no  doubt,  stimulated  the  energies 
of  the  Marchands.  That  would  be  natural. 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  a  long-drawn-out  legal  war 
fare  would  be  waged  in  the  courts,  touching  the  right  to 
the  possession  and  the  rightful  ownership  of  the  part  of 
the  estate  sought  to  be  held,  and  claimed  by  the  Captain 
and  the  owner  of  the  tramp  steamer.  True  enough,  had 
the  Captain  discovered  and  captured  the  jewels  upon  the 
high  seas,  alone,  and  without  a  claimant  in  possession  of 
them,  he  might  have  had  a  right  to  them.  But  the  circum 
stances  were  different.  Indeed,  had  he  not  rescued  the  old 
man  with  the  jewels  at  the  time  he  did,  might  not  the  old 
man  and  the  jewels  both  been  lost  forever  at  the  bottom  of 

196 


GUARDIAN  OF  THE  ESTATE 

the  sea?  There  were  two  sides  to  the  question.  The  Mar- 
chancls  did  not  dispute  that  fact,  but  they  did  deny  the  right 
of  the  rescuer  to  take  more  of  the  estate  than  in  common 
fairness  would  be  equitable  and  just. 

In  consequence  of  the  contention  between  the  parties,  the 
court  ordered  that  the  portion  of  the  estate  in  question  be 
turned  into  the  registry  of  the  court  to  await  the  results 
of  the  litigation.  Owing  to  the  fact  that  the  plaintiff  could 
not  speak  a  known  language,  and  that  the  defendant  was 
compelled  to  continue  his  trips  across  the  ocean,  there  was 
little  promise  of  an  early  ending  of  the  litigation.  It  might 
be  months,  even  years,  before  the  matter  would  be  finally 
determined  by  the  courts.  In  the  mean  time,  the  estate 
should  be  cared  for  under  orders  of  the  court,  and  the 
Captain  could  continue  his  business,  while  the  strange  old 
man  would  remain  an  interesting  character,  a  subject  for 
study,  and,  perhaps,  a  guide  to  a  world  of  wealth  greater 
far,  than  of  the  fabulous  Monte  Christo. 

But  the  old  man  was  the  special  charge  of  Joe  Butler. 
Jt  was  only  proper  and  right  that  Butler  should  take  especial 
interest  in  the  old  fellow  whom  he  had  discovered,  and  to 
whom  he  was  the  first  to  offer  protection.  Nor  was  it  an  un 
pleasant  task  for  Joe  Butler.  He  was  of  that  tender  nature 
and  kindly  disposition  that  found  pleasure  in  doing  good  unto 
others.  Of  course,  many  there  were  who  imagined,  and  even 
remarked,  that  Butler  was  especially  interested  in  the  old 
man,  "just  for  the  sake  of  his  wealth,"  and,  "that  Butler 
would  get  it  all."  Butler  knew  that  such  remarks  would  be 
made,  if  for  nothing  but  political  revenge.  But  he  cared  little 
about  that.  He  knew  there  were  very  many  people  in  this 
world  whose  souls  wore  so  pinched,  warped  and  weazened, 

197 


NORKOMA 

that  they  woud  envy  any  man  the  pleasure  he  found  even  in 
the  hope  of  reward  beyond  the  grave.  Butler  had  long 
before  learned  that  one's  life  is  too  short  to  lieed  the  vamp- 
ings  of  those  little  poison-spitters,  and  he  would  stride 
through  an  army  of  them  with  total  disregard  rather  than 
veer  his  course  or  check  his  speed. 

Therefore,  night  after  night,  week  after  week  and  month 
after  month,  Butler  was  to  be  found  in  the  company  of 
the  strange  old  man.-  People  wondered  what  he  mennt  by  it, 
but  he  had  nothing  to  give  out  to  the  public.  Besides,  he 
enforced  a  strict  compliance  with  the  rule,  that  no  person 
should  be  permitted  to  see  the  old  man  or  to  be  admitted 
to  his  apartments  in  the  sanitarium,  except  upon  Butler's 
written  permission  or  at  a  time  when  he  was  present.  This 
was  a  necessary  provision  for  several  good  reasons,  one  of 
which  was  that  Butler  was  playing  the  role  of  teacher  and 
instructor,  and  to  have  permitted  the  curiously  inclined 
access  would  have  made  his  efforts  less  effective. 

Butler  was  not  long  in  concluding  that  the  old  man  had, 
at  some  former  time,  been  an  educated  and  refined  Amer 
ican  citizen,  but  under  what  circumstances  and  conditions  he 
had  retrograded  into  his  present  state,  was  a  problem  which 
time  alone,  perhaps,  could  solve.  Butler  persevered,  how 
ever,  and  by  and  by,  the  light  of  intelligence  began  beaming 
in  the  old  man's  eyes.  The  evidences  of  the  fact  that  he 
began  to  understand  Butler's  speech  were  frequently  ap 
parent.  This  was  encouraging  to  Butler,  but  he  said  little 
about  it  to  any  one,  except  his  close  friend  \Yalter  Mar- 
chand. 

As  time  passed  by,  the  elder  Marchand  deferred  the  active 
work  and  practice  to  the  other  members  of  his  firm,  com- 

198 


GUARDIAN  OF  THE  ESTATE 

posed  now  of  his  son  Walter  and  several  other  young  men 
of  ability  whom  the  Marchands  had,  from  time  to  time,  ad 
mitted,  but  the  firm  name  of  Marchand  and  Marchand  was 
still  retained,  while  frequently  the  firm  was  referred  to  as 
"The  Marchands."  The  elder  Marchand  now  restricted  his 
work  to  office  consultation,  seldom  appearing  in  the  courts. 

The  case  of  the  strange  old  man,  generally  referred  to  as 
the  "Pearl  case,"  had  progressed  by  slow  degrees,  until  it  was 
deemed  expedient  that  a  guardian  be  appointed  to  take  care 
of  the  valuable  property  comprising  the  estate.  That  would 
insure  the  safety  of  the  estate,  while  the  litigation  could 
proceed  at  will  and  in  no  manner  be  affected  by  the  guar 
dianship.  .  Besides,  there  were  other  good  and  sufficient  rea 
sons  for  the  appointment  of  a  guardian,  all  of  which  were 
presented  to  the  court.  But  who  should  be  the  guardian? 
That  was  the  question  with  which  Butler  was  greatly  con 
cerned. 

It  was  not  everybody  who  could  give  the  bond  that  would 
be  required  of  the  guardian,  in  this  case.  There  could  be 
but  few  persons  that  to  Butler  would  be  acceptable.  Cer 
tainly  he  hoped  that  no  guardian  would  meddle  and  inter 
fere  between  the  man  and  himself,  for  he  was  progressing  too 
nicely  for  such  interference.  After  Butler  and  Walter  had 
gone  over  the  situation  thoroughly,  they  both  agreed  that 
LeBerte  Marchand  would  be  an  eminently  fit  and  proper 
person  to  be  appointed  as  the  guardian  of  the  strange  old 
man's  estate. 

"He  will  be  just  the  very  person  to  have  appointed, 
Walter,"  said  Butler,  "if  we  can  obtain  his  consent." 

"We  can  obtain  his  consent,  I  think,  for  there  will  be 
no  work  for  him  to  do.  We  will  look  after  all  the  details. 

199 


NORKOMA 

The  estate  is  composed  of  jewels  alone,  and  those  can  be 
safely  kept  in  a  thorough  burglar  and  fireproof  safe,  so 
there  will  be  no  danger  of  loss.  Here  comes  father  now. 
We  will  arrange  matters  at  once." 

For  the  sake  of  brevity,  it  may  be  simply  stated  that  in 
the  due  course  of  procedure,,  LeBerte  Marchand  was  duly 
and  legally  appointed  and  confirmed  as  the  guardian  of  the 
estate  of  the  "Strange  Old  Man." 


200 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
THE  SECOND  BATTLE. 

The  second  battle  of  municipal  politics,  in  which  Walter 
Marchand  was  a  leading  character,  had  now  begun.  The 
good  citizens  of  the  city  were  encouraged  by  the  course  pur 
sued  by  their  fearless,  honest  and  efficient  City  Attorney, 
and  they  desired  to  show  their  appreciation  by  placing  Walter 
Marchand  at  the  head  of  the  executive  department  of  the 
city  government.  To  this  arrangement  Walter  consented, 
011  the  condition,  however,  that  there  should  be  placed  upon 
the  ticket  with  him,  good  men  for  the  heads  of  departments 
and  for  the  Council,  or  legislative  department.  He  realized 
how  helpless  the  Mayor  would  be  were  that  officer  not  sur 
rounded  by  an  official  staff,  all  working  in  harmony.  The 
people  also  realized  that  the  good  work  of  the  City  Attorney, 
unless  followed  up,  would  avail  but  little,  and  that  the  fu 
ture  would  bring  the  direst  of  results. 

Whatever  the  past,  it  had  been  sufficient  to  show  to  the 
people  of  New  Orleans  one  thing.  It  showed  that  there 
was  a  necessity  for  individual  interest  in  municipal  politics, 
manifested  by  individual  energy. 

The  people  had  observed  the  bad  effect  of  individual  leth 
argy  in  municipal  politics.  They  had  failed  to  exercise  their 
individual  right  in  assisting  to  nominate  men  who  would 

201 


NORKOMA 

make  efficient,  honesty  public  servants.  That  privilege  was 
left  to  the  political  bosses.  With  the  selection  of  candidates 
for  public  office,  the  people  had  little  or  nothing  to  do,  and 
that  was  a  serious  mistake.  In  refusing  to  exercise  their 
greatest  American  privilege,  the  people  thereby  turned  the 
government  over  to  the  political  bosses  who  ran  the  govern 
ment  for  the  benefit  of  the  favored  few.  Thus,  in  the  course 
of  time,  the  government  became  corrupt,  and,  in  the  school 
of  calamity,  the  people  learned  the  truth  of  the  statement, 
that :  "The  government  will  be  just  as  bad  as  the  people  will 
permit  it  to  be,  or  just  as  good  as  the  people  will  make  it." 

Ere  the  ring  bosses  knew  what  was  going  on,  Fletcher, 
Butler,  Marchand,  and  a  number  of  others  of  more  or  less 
political  influence,  had  the  plans  of  the  campaign  well  laid. 
The  bold  and  defiant  announcement  of  a  public  mass  meet 
ing  of  the  citizens  for  the  purpose  of  nominating  a  munici 
pal  ticket  that  would  insure  better  local  government  came 
like  a  bolt  of  thunder  from  a  clear  sky  to  the  old  political 
leaders  and  bosses.  The  greatest  surprise  was  the  fact  that 
The  Daily  Clarion  had  gone  over  into  the  ranks  of  the  "re 
formers,"  as  they  were  called,  body  and  soul.  It  had  joined 
hands  with  The  Daily  Telegram,  and  the  struggle  for  a 
cleaner  government  was,  thereby,  almost  won. 

"That  was  the  greatest  stroke  of  political  policy  that  could 
have  been  made,"  said  the  friends  of  the  movement,  while 
the  members  of  the  old  ring  declared  there  was  a  "nigger  in 
the  wood  pile." 

The  announcement  called  for  a  meeting  of  the  citizens, 
regardless  of  party  affiliation,  stating  that  the  best  inter 
ests  of  the  city  were  above  party  fealty,  and  that  nomina 
tions  should  be  made  regardless  of  party  affiliation.  The 

202 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 

only  requirement,  necessary  to  participation  in  the  conven 
tion,  would  be  a  declaration  of  sincere  desire  for  a  clean  and 
honest  municipal  government.  Those  who  would  not  so 
declare,  were  not  expected  at  the  convention. 

The  Clarion  and  Telegram  also  requested  the  citizens  to 
send  in  the  names  of  those  whom  they  preferred  for  Mayor, 
all  of  which  would  be  published  for  the  information  of  the 
people.  The  responses  to  this  suggestion  were  a  splendid 
index  to  the  sentiment  of  the  people.  There  was  no  longer 
any  guessing  at  results.  The  two  dailies  were  literally 
swamped  with  telephone  calls,  postal  cards  and  letters  bear 
ing  messages  of  the  people's  preference  for  Mayor.  The  pref 
erence  of  those  who  responded  was  almost  unanimous  for 
Walter  Marchaud,  and  the  publication  of  this  fact  stimulated 
the  people  to  greater  activity  in  the  movement. 

The  ring  leaders  of  the  two  old  factions,  the  McBride  and 
Wilkins,  were  nonplussed.  They  had  seen  their  political 
power  and  prestige  waning  from  day  to  day,  and  they  ap 
peared  powerless  to  prevent  it.  They  employed  all  the  arts 
to  them  known  in  politics,  but  without  avail.  They  were 
simply  wrong,  and  they  knew  it.  They  had  hoodwinked  the 
people  for  years.  Now  the  people  asserted  their  own  indi 
vidual  rights  and  privileges,  whereas,  formerly  they  had 
left  political  affairs  in  the  hands  of  the  politicians.  The 
old  ring  leaders  found  themselves  in  the  midst  of  a  period 
when  the  rights  of  the  people  were  to  be  observed  and  exer 
cised  for  the  common  good  of  the  community;  when  the 
reign  of  special  privileges  would  be  brought  to  an  end,  and 
the  doctrine  of  equal  rights  would  be  fixed  in  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  the  citizens. 

True,  the  McBride  and  the  Wilkins  factions,  which  had  for 

203 


NORKOMA 

years,  alternately,  controlled  the  politics  of  the  city,  preached 
the  doctrine  of  equal  rights,  but  practiced  it  little.  The  doc 
trine  of  equal  rights  to  all  and  special  privileges  to  none  was 
a  good  platform  to  get  into  office  on,  and  it  was  the  slogan 
of  all  former  campaigns,  back  to  the  time  when  the  mem 
ory  of  the  oldest  citizen  runneth  not.  But  the  doctrine  was 
never  put  into  practice.  This  truth,  the  people  well  knew. 
The  more  astute  ones  of  the  two  old  factions  well  reckoned 
that  the  people  had  observed  the  situation. 

Bitter  as  the  leaders  of  the  McBride  and  Wilkins  fac 
tions  were  against  each  other,  they  but  exemplified  the 
truth  of  the  old  saying,  that:  "Politics  sometimes  make 
strange  bed-fellows."  The  movement  for  a  people's  ticket 
became  a  very  popular  one,  and  there  was  no  room  for  the 
two  opposing  factions,  so  the  two  old  factions  buried  the 
hatchet,  kissed,  and  made  up,  as  the  saying  goes.  This  they 
did,  for  the  sake  of  the  dear  old  party,  so  they  said,  and  it  is 
fair  to  presume  that  some  of  their  members  really  believed 
it  to  be  true. 

The  Daily  Trumpet  was  not  molested  by  the  members  of 
the  new  combination.  It  was  simply  ignored  by  the  other 
two  "respectable"  daily  papers,  and  the  silent  contempt  was 
more  bitter  than  wormwood  and  gall.  The  Daily  Trumpet 
fretted,  raged,  appealed  to  the  people  in  its  frantic  efforts 
to  retain  its  former  political  prestige.  But  it  was  all  in  vain. 
It  warned  the  people  against  the  Marchand-Butler-Pleteher 
combination,  and  predicted  that,  if  the  new  combination 
went  into  power,  it  would  be  the  ruination  of  the  city.  More, 
it  would  mean  the  domination  of  local  politics  by  the  nigger. 
At  all  such  extravagant  assertions  the  people  but  laughed, 
and,  as  they  laughed,  the  Trumpet  fretted  the  more. 

204 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 

Xo  one  enjoyed  the  excitement  of  the  battle  more  than 
did  John  Fletcher.  He  knew  the  temper  and  the  senti 
ment  of  the  people.  He  was  out  among  the  people  all  the 
time,  and  he  was  in  a  position  to  judge  of  the  situation.  He 
boldly  talked  of  his  conversion  to  the  right,  and  how  he  want 
ed  to  see  others  made  to  do  justice.  He  had  a  just  right  to 
talk,  and  the  people  believed  him.  He  was  running  for  no  of 
fice,  wanted  no  office,  but  he  did  want  honest,  fearless  men  in 
the  offices.  He  took  a  special  delight  in  calling  on  his  former 
bosses  and  political  masters.  They  were  not  inclined  kindly 
towards  him,  but  he  cared  little  about  that.  In  fact,  he  rather 
enjoyed  the  attitude  assumed  by  his  former  co-conspirators, 
for  it  gave  him  a  better  opportunity  to  speak  freely  and 
frankly  -  to  them.  If  they  recalled  past  deeds  not  wholly 
commendable,  they  were  reminded  that  he  had  reformed.  He 
admitted  that  his  past  record,  in  conjunction  with  theirs, 
was  not  clean,  but  he  had  reformed,  and  hoped  they  would 
do  likewise.  He  suggested  to  his  old-time  political  bosses 
that  those  who  would  not  reform  voluntarily  would  do  so, 
later,  involuntarily.  John  Fletcher  was  in  earnest,  and  he 
believed  what  he  preached.  The  people  knew  that,  and  they 
believed  with  him. 

So  earnest  were  Fletcher  and  Butler  in  their  effort  to  obtain 
a  set  of  city  officials  that  would  guarantee  a  cleaner  gov 
ernment,  that  they  had  little  trouble  in  procuring  the  con 
sent  of  good  men  to  allow  their  names  to  be  placed  upon  the 
ticket,  and  the  selections  so  made,  were  made  without  re 
gard  to  former  party  alliances.  Each  ward  held  its  own 
mass  meeting  and  indorsed  the  aldermen  so  selected,  the 
results  being  published  in  the  two  friendly  papers.  When 
the  various  aldermen  were  thus  selected,  they  were  called 

205 


NORKOMA 

together,  and  with  their  aid  the  selections  were  made  for 
the  various  heads  of  the  departments. '  Then  came  the  gen 
eral  mass  meeting  of  the  people  of  the  whole  city,  that  is, 
the  legal  voters  of  the  city,  for  those  who  were  not  entitled  to 
vote  in  the  election  were  not  permitted  a  voice  in  the  mass 
meeting.  If  there  had  been  excitment  and  enthusiasm  in  the 
previous  municipal  battle,  the  present  campaign  gave  evi 
dence  of  redoubled  vigor  and  energy.  The  distinguishing 
difference  was,  that  in  the  present  struggle,  the  whole  citi 
zenship  was  interested,  whereas,  before,  it  was  a  battle  of 
Walter  Marchand  against  the  politicians  and  political 
hangers-on,  the  grafters,  the  ward  heelers  and  the  filchers. 

As  the  forces  lined  up  in  battle  array,  there  were  observed, 
unon  the  one  side,  Walter  Marchand  and  his  ticket,  all  of 
whom  were  selected  by  the  people  in  a  plain,  unostentatious 
manner,  and  each  man  upon  that  ticket  pledged  to  afford 
equal  rights  to  all  citizens.  This  ticket  was  supported  by  all 
the  citizens  who  wanted  that  doctrine  put  into  actual  prac 
tice. 

The  opposing  hosts  were  headed  by  Charles  McBride  and 
his  ticket,  composed  of  politicians  selected  from  the  two  old 
factions.  This  ticket  was  supported  by  those  who  had  for 
years  received  special  favors  at  the  hands  of  the  govern 
ment.  Among  the  supporters  of  the  McBride  ticket  were 
also  to  be  found  the  ward  heelers,  the  grafters  and  filchers. 
They  intuitively  knew  where,  by  right,  they  belonged.  There 
was  no  boodle,  no  graft,  no  corruption  in  the  new  party. 
and,  of  course,  the  army  of  campaign  boodlers  found  no  con 
solation  there,  consequently  they  fell  into  the  ranks  of  the 
McBride-Wilkins  combination. 

No   one   knew   these   political   pilferers   better    than    did 

206 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 

Fletcher,  consequently  they  were  refused  admission  to  the 
convention  of  the  people.  Not  only  they,  but  likewise  the 
special  agents  and  pliant  tools  of  the  McBride  and  Wilkiiis 
r>omhination  who  were  sent  to  the  .mass  meeting  for  no  good 
purpose,  were  excluded.  The  convention,  therefore,  was 
composed  of  the  representative  people  of  the  cite  regardless 
of  political  parties,  political  alliances  or  party  fealty.  The 
one  object  was  honest  government  for  the  people. 

There  was  but  little  speech-making  at  the  convention.  The 
people  knew  what  they  were  there  for.  No  one  needed  in 
struction  on  that  point.  It  was  a  sort  of  family  runion. 
Each  felt  that  his  presence  there  was  as  important  as  that 
of  his  neighbor,  but  not  more  so.  Each  felt  that  spirit  of 
community  of  interest  which  makes  cool,  calm,  deliberate 
action  for  the  common  good.  Each  felt  glad  that  his  neigh 
bors  were  present  and  interested.  There  was  no  spirit  of 
envy,  malice,  hatred  or  spite  exhibited.  The  political  sore 
heads  and  enemies  were  all  in  the  ranks  of  the  old  factions. 
They  were  not  wanted  in  this,  the  people's  convention.  The 
people  realized  what  great  harm  is  done  to  a  city  by  sore- 
headed,  envious,  spite-breeding  political  factions  in  munic 
ipal  government.  They  knew  that  many  a  promising  young 
city  had  gone  to  ruin  and  decay  on  that  account.  They 
could  look  over  the  country  and  count  such  municipal  corpse? 
by  the  score,  and  they  now  felt  rejoiced  that  at  last  their 
fair  and  promising  city  was  about  to  cast  off  her  shackles 
and  fetters,  so  that  when  the  convention  was  called  to  order; 
a  spirit  of  common  interest  and  common  welfare  permeated 
the  vast  assemblage. 

Joe  Butler  was  in  charge  of  the  affairs  of  the  mass  meet 
ing.  It  seemed  natural  that  he  should  be  in  charge,  for  no 

207 


NORKOMA 

person  had  shown  more  zeal  in  the  good  cause,  of  which 
Walter  Marchand  was  the  leader,  than  had  Joe  Butler.  The 
audience  knew  that,  and  the  audience  showed  its  apprecia 
tion  by  loud  and  continued  applause.  Butler  arose  and 
requested  order.  When  silence  had  been  restored,  Butler 
briefly  reviewed  the  work  of  reform  that  had  been  begun 
and  prosecuted  under  the  leadership  of  their  friend,  Walter 
Marchand,  and  outlined  the  work  that  had  been  done  up  to 
the  time  of  the  convention.  He  then  stated: 

"Now,  fellow  citizens,  the  furtherance  of  the  good  cause 
is  in  your  hands.  Whatever  action  you  may  take,  it  will  be 
the  act  of  our  whole  people.  We,  who  have  worked  and  toiled 
to  place  the  government  of  our  city  in  the  hands  of  the 
people,  here  and  now  turn  over  to  you  the  fruits  of  our  toil. 
What  shall  your  pleasure  be?" 

No  sooner  had  Butler  finished  speaking  than  calls  for 
Walter  Marchand  came  from  every  part  of  the  great  as 
semblage  of  citizens.  Walter  remembered  how  he  had  stood 
before  his  first  political  audience  two  years  previous  with 
scarcehr  an  idea  other  than  that  of  official  integrity.  Two 
years  of  actual  warfare  with  political  enemies  had  broadened 
his  views,  had  opened  his  political  eyes.  It  had  been  a 
great  school,  indeed,  and  Walter  Marchand  had  been  a  close 
student.  He  experienced  no  fear,  no  misgivings,  no  trepida 
tion,  now.  In  the  fullest  of  confidence,  Walter  Marchand 
began : 

•'My  fellow  citizens,  I  congratulate  you  upon  the  manifest 
interest  you  have  in  the  matter  of  a  better  government  for 
cur  fair  and  promising  city.  I  congratulate  the  people  foT 
Their  timely  advance  to  the  rescue  of  our  government  from 
the  hands  of  the  ring  of  politicians  who  nave  made  it  a 

208 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 

government  for  and  by  the  few.  A  city  is  best  governed 
when  that  government  is  by  the  whole  people;  when  in  truth 
and  in  fact  there  are  special  favors  to  none,  and  when  all 
have  equal  rights,  and  those  rights  are  exercised.  The  poor 
est  among  you  is  entitled  to  equal  favors  with  every  other 
citizen,  be  he  poor  or  rich,  high  or  low,  laborer  or  merchant. 
The  richest  among  you  should  be  made  to  feel  the  lash  of  jus 
tice  in  the  same  degree  with  his  less  prosperous  neighbor,  and 
all  should  be  willing  to  do  exact  justice  to  our  government. 

"It  is  the  failure  on  the  part  of  the  people  to  see  to  it, 
that  these  conditions  are  allowed  to  exist.  I  have  before 
stated  the  government  of  a  municipality  will  be  just  what 
the  people  make  it,  and,  because  of  the  truth  of  that  state 
ment,  the  people  generally  deserve  just  about  what  they  get 
in  the  way  of  municipal  government. 

"Whatever  you  may  have  deserved  in  the  past,  I  am  glad 
to  know  that  you  have  at  last  determined  that  a  reform 
shall  be  brought  about.  It  will  be  but  short-lived,  however, 
unless  the  whole  people  shall  remain  active  and  keep  a 
close  watch. 

"You  have  been  informed  of  the  work  that  has  been  done 
to  bring  about  the  present  movement.  You  are  expected  to 
take  charge  of  this  meeting,  nominate  the  men  whom  you 
wish  for  your  leaders,  and  elect  them  to  the  offices.  For 
my  own  part,  I  should  like  to  see  the  following  conditions 
brought  about  in  our  city: 

"Paved  streets,  good  sidewalks,  better  sanitation,  strici 
payment  of  all  city  taxes,  better  moral  restrictions,  a  cleaner 
police  department,  the  cessation  of  the  miscellaneous  sale  of 
poisonous  drugs,  a  reasonable  observance  of  the  Sabbath,  a 
primary  election  for  the  nomination  of  candidates,  in  which 

209 


NORKOMA 

the  people  would  have  a  voice,  a  strict  practice  of  equal 
rights  to  all  and  special  privileges  to  none. 

"Should  I  be  so  fortunate  as  to  serve  you  further,  I  would 
be  pleased  to  know  that  each  and  every  officer  in  our  city 
government  shall  stand  for  these  principles,  and,  if  they  shall, 
I  promise  you  a  government  of,  for  and  by  the  people.  The 
whole  matter  is  now  with  the  people." 

•The  storm  of  applause  that  followed,  as  Marchand  retired 
to  a  seat,  was  indicative  of  the  enthusiasm  of  the  people. 
Butler  brought  about  the  formal  organization  of  the  con 
vention  under  cover  of  that  enthusiasm  with  such  tact  and 
grace  as  would  do  credit  to  the  most  artful  politician.  Then 
turning  the  gavel  over  to  the  permanent  chairman,  Butler 
gently  bowed  and  passed  out  into  the  assembly  in  a  manner 
that  plainly  seemed  to  say:  "Now,  the  people  are  at  the 
helm,  let  the  old  ship  sail." 

"The  next  thing  in  order  is  the  nomination  for  Mayor," 
said  the  chairman. 

A  motion  was  made,  by  a  citizen  who  had  been  accustomed 
to  "railroading"  in  political  conventions,  that  a  nominating 
committee  be  appointed.  Butler  at  once  obtained  the  atten 
tion  of  the  chairman  and  said: 

"No  doubt  my  good  friend  from  the  Sixth  Ward  means 
well,  but,  if  he  will  consider  that  this  is  a  mass  meeting  of 
the  whole  people  and  not  of  any  particular  party,  he  will 
recognize  the  fact  that  nominations  should  be  made  openly, 
upon  the  floor  of  this  convention,  and  by  any  and  every 
one  who  wishes  to  make  or  second  a  nomination."  This 
statement  was  received  with  loud  applause,  and  the  citizen 
from  the  Sixth  Ward  withdrew  his  motion. 


THE  SECOND  BATTLE 

'''Are  there  any  nominations  for  Mayor?"  said  the  chair 
man. 

John  Fletcher  arose  and  began  to  speak  as  follows: 

"I  wish  to  place  in  nomination  for  the  office  of  Mayor,  a 
man  who  has  proven  himself  a  fearless,  honest  officer.  A 
man  - 

"Walter  Marchand,"  cried  the  audience  as  with  one  ac 
cord.  There  was  no  use  for  Fletcher  to  make  further  at 
tempt  at  speech :  the  audience  had  nominated  Marchand.  He 
was  the  unanimous  choice  of  the  great  assemblage,  and  he 
would  be  the  choice  of  the  whole  people  of  the  city. 

In  rapid  order  were  the  other  officers  nominated,  just  as 
had  been  planned  by  Butler,  Fletcher  and  a  few  others,  and 
the  mass  meeting  adjourned,  the  people  feeling  that  they 
had  done  a  great  work.  And,  indeed,  they  had.  It  was 
the  first  time  in  many  a  year  that  the  people,  the  common, 
everyday  people,  had  had  anything  to  do  with  the  nomination 
of  their  public  officers.  Of  course,  some  of  the  people  had 
attended  the  conventions,  but  they  were  not  consulted  and 
did  nothing  more  than  look  on.  The  political  bosses  did  the 
rest. 

The  battle  royal  was  now  on.  The  Daily  Trumpet  howled 
and  raged  at  the  pretended  convention  of  the  people — called 
it  a  sham,  makeshift,  conceived  and  planned  to  fool  the  peo 
ple.  The  people  were  satisfied,  however,  and  laughed  at  the 
antics  of  the  Trumpet.  The  old  political  factions,  now  con 
solidated,  labored  hard  by  day  and  by  night,  but  little  head 
way  could  they  make.  The  more  abuse  they  heaped  upon  the 
people's  ticket,  the  more  friends  they  made  for  it.  The 
friends  of  the  people's  ticket  were  confident,  but  they  did  not 

211 


NORKOMA 

lie  down  on  their  guns.     They  remained  at  the  front    and 
did  noble  battle  to  the  last  ditch. 

When  the  election  was  over,  and  the  smoke  of  the  battle 
had  cleared  away,  it  was  found  that  Marchand  and  his  entire 
ticket  had  been  elected  by  a  larger  majority  than  that  of 
Marchand's  election  two  years  before,  and  thus,  in  the  sec 
ond  battle  of  the  people  a  great  victory  had  been  won. 


212 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
OLD  AUNT  DINAH. 

A  few  days  after  the  election,  as  related  in  the  previous 
chapter,  Joe  Butler  was  startled  from  a  reverie  by  the  ap 
pearance  at  his  office  door  of  an  aged  and  somewhat  infirm 
negro  woman.  At  a  glance,  Butler  recognized  in  her  a  species 
of  the  old  'time  darky,  for  which  the  true  Southerner  has 
due  and  gentle  respect. 

"Come  in,  Auntie.     What  can  I  do  for  you?" 
"Thank  yo'  sah ;  thank  yo',  thank  yo',"  said  the  old  darky, 
as  she  bowed  low  and  made  due  obeisance.     "I'se  bin  look- 
in  for  Marse  Butler,  but  I  doan  'specks  I'se  gwine  to  fine 
him,  'kase  its  bin  a  mighty  long  time  sence  I  seed  him." 
"What  Butler  are  you  Jooking  for,  Aunty?" 
"Why,  Marse  WilFm  Butler,  my  old  marse,  o'  course." 
"Where   did  your  old  master  live,   Auntie?" 
"Oh,  we  all  lived  ovah  in  Alabama  afoh  de  wah,  but  Marse 
Butler  done  set  all  us  niggahs  free  'bout  de  breakin'  out  ob 
de  wah,   den  me  an?  my  ole  man   went  to  Tennessee.     I 
neber  did  know  what  b'come  ob  my  ole  man,   so  aftah  de 
wah  I  went  back  to  my  ole  marse  and  lived  thar  a  long  time. 
Den  I  done  marrad  a  fool  no  'count  niggah,  and  we  moved 
heah  to  New  Orleans.     I'se  bin  hearing  a  heap  'bout  Marse 
Butler  'round  heah,  an'  I  didn't  know  it  mout  be  my  ole 

213 


NORKOMA 

marse,  so  I  keeps  huntin'  fer  him,  'kase  I  wants  to  see  him 
afoh  I  dies." 

"Why  bless  your  good  old  soul,  Aunt  Dinah,  your  old 
master  has  been  dead  for  many  a  long  year." 

"See  heah,  young  man,  how  yo'  knows  my  name's  Aunt 
Dinah — yo'  haint  neber  seed  me  afoh,  has  yo'  ?" 

"Oh,  yes.  You  are  my  old  black  mammy.  You  took 
care  of  me  when  I  was  a  little  baby.  I  am  Joe  Butler,  son 
of  your  old  master." 

"Hallelujah !  glory,  glory,  glory,  I  done  foun'  my  young 
marse.  Glory  to  de  Lam',"  shouted  the  old  darky  as  she 
clapped  her  hands  for  joy  and  shambled  around  the  room. 

"Well,  Aunt  Dinah,  I  am  real  glad  to  see  you  once  more," 
Slid  Butler  for  the  purpose  of  restoring  quiet.  "I  sup 
pose  you  are  married  and  have  a  big  family." 

"Naw,  sah;  naw,  sah.  I  doan  pestah  'round  wif  none  ob 
dsse  new  f angled  niggahs.  Dey  haint  no  'count,  no  how. 
I  done  had  my  sat'sfaction  wif  dem  lazy,  stuck  up  niggahs. 
Naw,  sah.  I  done  bin  married  six  times,  reglar,  an'  none  ob 
'em  wasn't  no  'count,  so  I  jes  wo'ks  'roun'  fo5  myself.  Dats 
what  I  does,  Marse  Butler.  Bless  de  Lawd,  I  sho'  is  glad  1 
done  foun'  my  young  marse.  I  knows  I'se  gwine  to  git  a 
Chris'mus  pres'nt  now." 

"To  be  sure,  Auntie,  and  I  will  find  you  a  good  place  to 
work,  where  you  will  have  a  home  and  be  comfortable,  too. 
I  know  you  will  like  that." 

"Yessah,  Marse  Butler,  I  suttenly  will.  I  done  los'  my  lit 
tle  ole  home,  'kase  I  couldn't  pay  de  taxes,  an'  sence  den 
I'se  bin  wo'kin'  'round  f'um  place  to  place,  best  I  could." 

"All  right,  Aunt  Dinah,  now  you  take  this  letter  down  to 
the .Sanitarium  on  Carondelet  street,  and  you  will 

214 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 

be  shown  what  to  do  until  I  come.  I  will  be  there  in  a  little 
while.  Xow,  go  straight  there,  Auntie,  do  you  hear?'1 

"Yessah,  yessah,  Marse  Butler,  I  sho'ly  will  go  right  dar 
dis  blessed  minute.  Praise  de  Lawd,  bless  de  Holy  Lam', " 
said  the  old  darky  as  she  bowed  and  shambled  out  of  the 
office,  going  on  her  way,  rejoiced  that  she  had  found  her 
old  friend. 

"Strange  how  bad  pennies  will  turn  up,"  said  Butler  to 
Walter  Marchand,  who  entered  the  office  as  the  old  darky 
passed  out.  "That  old  darky  was,  before  the  war,  one  of 
my  father's  slaves.  She  was  my  old  nurse,  and  we  all  thought 
a  great  deal  of  her.  My  father  realized  that  in  the  end  the 
niggers  would  be  liberated,  so  about  a  year  after  the  war 
broke  out,  he  liberated  all  of  his  slaves  of  his  own  accord. 
I  was  a  mere  baby,  and  this  old  darky  was  my  'black  mammy' 
as  we  called  her  in  those  days.  Her  husband  was  a  trifling 
fellow,  and  though  Aunt  Dinah  vigorously  protested  leav 
ing  our  plantation,  the  rascal  carried  her  off  to  some  town 
in  Tennessee,  and  we  heard  no  more  from  her  until  about 
six  or  seven  years  after  the  war  was  over,  when  she  came 
back  to  us,  and  we  gave  her  a  good  home  as  long  as  she 
stayed  with  us. 

"After  awhile,  I  went  away  to  college.  That  was  where 
I  first  met  you.  I  had  been  in  college  about  two  or  three 
years  when  you  first  came  there.  Well,  old  Aunt  Dinah 
finally  picked  up  with  some  tramp  of  a  nigger,  got  married, 
and  left.  We  never  heard  any  more  of  her,  and  I  thought 
she  had  been  dead  years  ago,  but  here  she  turns  up,  after 
all  these  years,  just  like  a  bad  penny.  Strange,  isn't  it?" 

'•'Yes,  it  seems  a  little  strange  that  the  old  darkey  should 

215 


NORKOMA 

still  be  living,  she  seems  a  hundred  years  old.  Well,  it  but 
adds  another  care  upon  your  hands." 

"Certainly,  but  do  you  know,  Walter,  I  am  glad  to  see 
her.  Yes,  and  if  necessary,  I  will  work  my  hands  off  to  take 
care  of  the  old  darky.  I  never  see  one  of  those  'old  black 
mammy s'  but  that  my  heart  goes  out  in  sympathy  for  them. 
I  feel  that  it  is  my  duty  to  care  for  Aunt  Dinah  as  long  as 
she  lives,  and  I'll  do  it,  too.  I  suppose  you  still  remember 
your  'old  black  mammy,'  don't  you?" 

"Why,  really,  Joe,  I  am  not  certain.  It  seems,  at  times, 
I  fancy  that  I  can  faintly  hear  a  crooning  lullaby  and  see 
a  kind,  old,  colored  face  bending  over  me,  that  was  once  a 
reality,  but  when  I  try  to  recall  it  to  memory,  the  image  fades 
away  and  is  lost.  I  suppose  my  early  life  was  so  pleasant, 
and  so  filled  with  happy  incidents,  except  for  a  time  at 
my  mother's  death,  that  the  recollections  of  my  babyhood  days 
have  slipped  from  my  memory  forever." 

"If  you  were  born  and  brought  up  in  this  city,  the  chances 
are  that  you  had  the  care  of  an  'old  black  mammy/  but 
not,  perhaps,  to  the  extent  that  we  of  the  country  had.  It 
does  me  good,  sometimes,  to  see  an  old  colored  mammy 
singing  and  crooning  over  a  baby.  There  seems  to  be  some 
thing  in  her  voice  that  reaches  the  embryo  soul  of  the  infant, 
and  which  brings  peace  and  contentment  when  nothing  else 
will.  There  is  something  wierd  about  her  crooning,  a  sim 
plicity,  a  strangeness  that  is  fascinating.  Her  lullabys  are 
always  original  in  character  and  peculiar  to  the  individual. 
I  shall  never  forget  one  of  the  lullabys  which  my  'old  black 
mammy'  used  to  croon  to  me.  It  went  something  like  this :" 

Butler  began   a  droll   crooning,   an   excellent  mimicry   of 

216 


"OLD  AUNT  DINAH." 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 

the  old-time  darky  nurse,  which  at  once  arrested  Marchand's 
attention,  then  deeply  affected  him,  as  Butler  proceeded. 

"Go  on,  Joe,  go  on  forever,"  said  Walter,  with  a  pained 
expression  on  his  face.  "Go  on,  until  the  flood-gates  of  for- 
getfulness  are  thrown  wide  and  the  tide  of  memory  rushes 
in  upon  me,  bringing  back  the  recollection  of  my  childhood 
days.  I  have  heard  that  old  lullaby  some  time  and  some 
where,  but  where?" 

"Oh,  no  doubt,  your  old  black  mammy  sang  it  to  you. 
The  imagery  of  those  old  darkies  is  wonderful,  and  their 
lullabys  are  strikingly  similar.  Strange,  though,  that  you 
should  so  completely  and  utterly  forget  your  nursery  days. 
Some  time-  the  memory  of  those  days  will  rush  back  upon 
you  like  a  flood.  But  it  is  of  little  importance,  as  your 
life  is  before  you,  and  nothing  depends  upon  the  events  of 
your  babyhood  days." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  you  are  right.  Sometimes,  though,  I 
don't  feel  that  I  am  in  a  sphere  where  I,  by  rights,  belong. 
Sometimes  I  feel  that  I  am  not  who  I  really  am.  Not  that, 
exactly,  but  I  do  not  know  just  how  to  express  myself." 

"Well,  old  fellow,  you  are  all  right,  but  you  have  simply 
over-worked  yourself.  That  is  what  is  the  matter  with 
you.  You  should  take  a  little  trip  out  west,  somewhere, 
and  relieve  yourself  of  the  strain  you  are  constantly  under 
going.  You  take  public  life  too  seriously.  You  are  too 
easily  annoyed  at  the  common  and  ordinary  political  thrusts 
and  side-cuts  in  which  many  people  indulge  with  the  same 
abandon  as  they  do  about  the  lawyer,  as  a  lawyer.  You 
know  everybody  feels  a  perfect  liberty  to  make  side-thrusts 
at  lawyers,  as  lawyers.  It  seems  to  be  a  common  practice, 

217 


NORKOMA 

now-a-days,  and  the  people  are  falling  into  the  habit  of 
referring  to  all  public  officials,  in  the  same  way." 

"Well,  it  is  wrong.  It  is  a  great  injustice  to  refer  to  the 
legal  profession,  as  a  profession,  in  any  other  than  a  re 
spectful  manner.  As  a  class,  the  lawyers  are  as  honest  as 
any  other  class  on  earth,  the  preachers,  or  ministers  of  the 
gospel,  not  excepted." 

"I  thoroughly  agree  with  you,  old  fellow/" 

"It  is  as  unjust  to  the  public  official  to  have  the  many 
uncalled  for  remarks  and  insinuations  made  against  him, 
as  a  public  officer,  as  it  is  against  the  lawyer.  It  ought 
Hot  to  be  so.  It  has,  a  very  bad  effect  upon  the  morals 
of  the  community.  It  not  only  impresses  the  young  and 
rising  generation  with  the  idea  that  all  public  officials  are 
scoundrels,  but  it  discourages  honest  men  from  taking  an 
interest  in  the  affairs  of  our  government.  Another  phase  of 
the  practice  is,  that  when  a  good  man  has  been  elected  to 
office,  and  later  he  discovers  that  his  good  name  is  being 
bandied  about,  and  that  he  is  suspected  and  accused  of  unholy 
things,  he  sometimes  becomes  angered  to  the  point  of  des 
peration,  and  then  seeks  the  unholy  gains  with  which  he  is 
unjustly  suspicioned  and  accused."'  . 

"There  is  no  doubt  about  the  evil  resulting  from  the  un 
warranted  and  pernicious  habit  of  some  of  the  people  cast 
ing  insinuations  and  reflections  against  public  officials.  And 
the  more  shame  of  it  all  is  that  some  of  our  best  citizens, 
who  really  know  better,  have  fallen  into  the  practice.  They 
do  not  stop  to  think  of  the  evil  effect  of  it.  They  do  it  in 
a  sort  of  jesting  way,  as  if  the  people  expected  every  public 
officer  to  turn  rascal  and  thief  as  soon  as  he  gets  into  office." 

"Well,  there  is  another  class  of  people  who  make  a  practice 

218 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 

of  slandering  public  officials,  merely  for  the  love  of  the 
practice.  They  are,  as  a  rule,  crooked  curs,  and  can  see  no 
good  in  anyone.  They  are  disturbers,  and  slanderers  by 
habit,  and  damned  rascals  by  nature.  For  them,  there 
should  be  placed  in  every  honest  man's  hand  a  whip,  'to  lash 
the  rascals  naked  through  the  world.' '; 

"By  the  way,  Walter,  there  appears  to  be  considerable  pro 
testing  against  the  'Trilby  Theater  Band'  parading  our 
streets,  advertising  the  variety  show  and  dance  house." 

"Yes,  several  of  my  friends  have  casually  remarked  to 
me  that  there  should  be  a  stop  put  to  the  practice." 

"Have  you  ever  been  in  that  place?" 

"ISfo,.  but  I  understand  it  is  of  a  low  order,  and  that  the 
morals  of  the  place  are  very  bad.  You,  being  a  newspaper 
man,  ought  to  know.  How  about  it?" 

"Thank  you.  I  can  not  recommend  the  place.  There  are 
some  clever  performances,  poor  singing,  high-priced  beer, 
female  costumes  short  at  both  ends,  dancing,  drinking,  drunk 
enness,  robbery,  pocket-picking,  and  everything  that  is  cal 
culated  to  send  a  man  to  hell  as  rapidly  as  is  possible  for 
one  to  travel  in  that  direction." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  brass  band  is  sent  out  upon 
our  streets  to  advertise  that  place,  and  to  flaunt  such  inde 
cency  into  the  faces  of  our  people?" 

"Well,  the  band  comes  out  twice  a  day  to  advertise  the 
'Trilby  Theater.'  It's  been  doing  that  for  a  number  of  years. 
I  suppose  the  place  is  a  source  of  revenue  to  the  city,  as 
well  as  to  those  connected  with  it." 

"Revenue  or  no  revenue,  that  public  advertising  of  im 
morality  and  indecency  must  be  stopped." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it?" 

219 


NORKOMA 

"I  am  going  to  stop  it  at  once.  I  will  not  only  stop  the 
public  advertising,  but  the  immoral  show  must  shut  down. 
These  fellows  shall  not  longer  continue  to  flaunt  their  inde 
cency  and  immorality  in  the  faces  of  our  women  and  chil 
dren  upon  the  public  streets  of  the  city." 

"I  presume  a  city  license  has  been  issued,  under  which  the 
show  is  beings  operated." 

"If  so,  the  license  shall  be  revoked." 

"It  might  not  be  best  to  make  too  many  reforms,  right  in 
the  very  outset  of  your  administration.  This  suggestion  is 
in  pure  friendship." 

"Certainly,  I  understand.  However,  I  shall  look  only  to 
my  official  duty.  I  care  not  for  the  carping  of  the  critics. 
When  you  deal  with  crime,  you  must  not  temporize,  but 
strike  it  down — stop  it.  It  is  often  different  when  dealing 
with  other  matters.  Every  indecent  show  or  immoral  exhi 
bition  is  an  outrage  upon  the  public  morals  of  a  community, 
and  should  be  immediately  suppressed." 

"I  understand  there  is  no  way  to  suppress  it,  that  the 
power  in  the  city  charter  is  inadequate." 

"That  does  not  matter.  The  common  law  is  adequate. 
Whenever  any  public  show  or  exhibition  is  of  such  character 
as  tends  to  corrupt  society,  it  is  subject  to  prosecution  under 
the  common  law,  for  the  conduct  of  such  show  or  exhibition 
is,  of  itself,  a  breach  of  the  peace.  Any  act  or  conduct  on 
the  part  of  an  individual  or  aggregation  of  individuals,  cal 
culated  to  corrupt  the  public  morals,  or  outrage  the  sense 
of  public  decency,  are  offenses  against  the  public  and  are 
subject  to  criminal  prosecution. 

"The  suppression  of  crime,  and  of  nuisances  such  as  are 
injurious  to  the  public  morals,  is  the  first  and  most  im- 

220 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 

portant  duty  of  government.  A  public  officer  is  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  a  servant  of  the  government,  and  if  he 
fail  to  perform  that  duty  he  is  a  traitor  to  the  government, 
and  a  menace  to  the  people  who  compose  the  government. 
As  the  Mayor  of  this  city,  I  shall  not  sit  idly  and  allow 
such  notorious  outrages  to  continue." 

"Well,  Walter,  you  are  eminently  correct  in  theory.  I 
glory  in  your  determination  to  put  down  vice  and  crime,  but 
I  must  remind  you  that  our  good  friend  John  Bently  is  the 
proprietor  of  that  theatre." 

"What  difference  should  that  make?  I  do  not  care  who 
the  proprietor  may  be.  John  Bently  shall  have  no  more  legal 
right  to  operate  a  den  of  iniquity  in  this  city  than  shall  have 
my  bitterest  foe." 

"And  there  is  our  friend,  the  druggist,  Mr.  Johnson,  who 
owns  the  theater  building  and  no  dpubt  draws  a  high  rental 
therefor." 

"So  much  more  the  shame  for  our  fair  city.  Johnson's 
father  is  a  highly  respected  minister  of  the  gospel,  and 
Johnson  himself,  a  rich  and  highly  esteemed  citizen.  John 
son  has  a  few  little  drug  joints  down  in  the  shady  part  of 
the  city,  where  there  is  dispensed  poison  without  let  or 
hindrance,  until  there  has  grown  up  an  army  of  'dope  fiends' 
swarming  our  streets,  the  creation  of  Johnson's  drug  joints. 
Every  dollar  he  has  thus  obtained  from  those  joints  repre 
sents  so  much  life  blood,  moral  stamina,  man  and  woman 
hood,  that  has  been  drained  from  the  lives  and  souls  of  those 
poor,  miserable  creatures,  who  fill  the  night  with  hideous 
cries  and  unearthly  screams  while  crazed  with  Johnson's 
poisons.  Shall  I,  as  Mayor  of  this  city,  sit  idly  and  let  this 

221 


horrible  condition  grow  still  more  horrible?  Not  on  your 
life/' 

"Old  fellow,  you  are  all  right  in  principle,  but  you  are 
too  impulsive,  too  hasty.  You  will  accomplish  better  re 
sults  if  you  try  to  bring  about  these  reforms  by  degrees. 
It  takes  time  to  make  these  reforms  effectual  and  perma 
nent." 

"Say,  Butler,  if  you  were  to  meet  a  poisonous  snake  in 
the  road,  and  you  knew  there  were  a  lot  of  innocent  chil 
dren  near  by  who  were  likely  to  be  bitten  by  it,  what  would 
you  do?" 

"I  would  kill  the  snake,  of  course." 

"How  would  you  go  about  it?" 

'•"Why,  I  would  simply  kill  the  snake.     That's  all." 

"Why  not  just  bruise  its  tail  some,  then  sit  down  and  wait 
awhile,  then  bruise  it  some  more,  and  kill  the  poor  thing  by 
degrees,  thereby  making  the  death  of  the  reptile  more  perma 
nent  and  effective?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  you  rascal,  I  see  the  point.  I  guess  you 
have  the  best  of  the  argument,  so  far  as  the  snake  story  goes, 
but  do  you  know  the  snake  story  doesn't  work  in  politics  ?" 

"It  doesn't  work  in  politics  because  the  newly  elected  officer 
too  frequently  turns  politician  and  begins  laying  plans  for 
the  next  election.  Too  often,  he  is  made  to  fear  that  in 
doing  his  whole  duty  he  will  offend  some  John  Bently,  or 
Druggist  Johnson,  who  is  feeding  off  the  hard  earnings  of 
the  people  by  'special  favor/  or  by  taking  the  life-blood  of 
the  poor  and  ignorant  classes  through  'permission'  of  the 
government.  The  way  to  kill  a  snake  is  to  kill  it  by  cutting 
off  its  head  at  one  blow.  The  way  to  kill  off  vice  and 
crime  in  a  community  is  for  the  people  and  the  officials  to 

222 


OLD  AUNT  DINAH 

unitedly  strike  it  down  with  one  blow,  and  if  the  Johnsons 
and  the  Bentlys  stand  stubbornly  in  the  way,  strike  them 
clown  also.  There  can  be  no  temporizing  with  crime.  The 
community  which  temporizes  with  indecency  and  immorality 
thereby  becomes  guilty  itself,  as  a  whole,  and  the  morals  of 
that  community  will  soon  find  a  low  level/'' 

"A  public  officer  must  have  public  sentiment  back  of  him, 
if  he  would  successfully  battle  with  the  various  phases  of 
crime  to  be  found  in  our  cities.  Do  you  think  the  public 
sentiment  of  our  city  is  sufficiently  strong  to  warrant  you  in 
making  a  vigorous  attack  upon  the  immoral  theaters  and 
the  sale  of  poisonous  drugs?1' 

"Well,  I  will  soon  find  out  about  that,  by  doing  what  I 
conceive  to  be  my  official  duty.  I  don't  expect  the  politicians 
to  back  up  the  effort.  Not  until  they  are  thoroughly  con 
vinced  that  there  are  more  votes  on  the  moral  side  than  on 
the  immoral  side.  Then,  they  will  become  the  most  inter 
ested,  and  the  least  active,  supporters  of  the  movement." 

"The  people  seem  to  forget,  all  too  soon,  the  noble  sacri 
fices  that  a  brave,  honest  officer  makes  in  their  behalf.  That 
is,  the  officer's  friends  forget,  but  the  enemies  he  has  made 
in  doing  his  duty  never  forget.  They  are  right  on  the  spot 
when  the  next  election  rolls  around,  and  they  are  there  for 
business,  too.  They  never  forget  you.  They  stay  right  in 
battle  array,  fighting  until  the  last  vote  is  counted." 

"No,  friend  Butler,  the  people  do  not  forget.  They  remem 
ber  the  brave  and  honest  public  servant  and  will  stand  by 
him  so  long  as  he  keeps  his  helmet  and  shield  bright,  and 
ready  to  do  noble  battle.  True,  the  people  sometimes  do 
not  take  as  much  interest  in  matters  of  government  as  they 
should,  otherwise  they  would  kill  off  the  political  boosters, 

223 


NORKOMA 

grafters  and  bosses.  But  they  do  not  forget.  At  any  rate, 
there  is  only  one  course  for  me  to  pursue,  and  that  is  to 
do  my  duty  as  God  gives  me  wisdom  to  discern  it,  and  that. 
I  will  do,  regardless  of  all  contingencies." 

"Oh,  well,  old  boy,  you  will  never  make  a  good  politi 
cian.  I  can  see  that." 

"I  thank  you  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  that  state 
ment.  Now  I  know  you  have  confidence  in  me.*' 

"Oh,  yes.  I  always  had  confidence  in  you,  but  you  are 
too  headstrong." 

"By  the  way,  Joe,  how  is  your  'Prince  of  Pearls'  getting 
on  under  his  late  tutor.  Is  he  an  apt  student  ?" 

"Indeed  he  is.  But  it  may  be  because  I  am  an  adept 
teacher." 

"Most  likely,  Joe.  You  are  an  adept  at  everything,  with 
one  exception." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Killing  snakes/   You  bruise  their  poor  tails.    Ha,  ha,  ha." 

"Oh,  you  villian.     Come  on,  the  cigars  are  on  me." 


A  STRONG  RESEMBLANCE 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 
A  STRONG  RESEMBLANCE. 

Life  at  "The  Cedars"  continued  in  the  same,  gentle,  even 
manner  as  had  always  characterized  the  old  home,  and  if 
there  were  any  heart-pangs,  misgivings,  breedings  or  disap 
pointment  within,  the  world  without  was  none  the  wiser. 
LeBerte  Marchand,  it  is  true,  felt  that  sense  of  uneasiness 
natural  to  one  who  carries  a  secret  within  his  bosom  which, 
if  once  divulged,  might  bring  pain,  yet  he  had  carried  the 
secret  for  so  many  years  that  he  felt  a  more  rigid  injunction 
upon  him  to  guard  it  still  more  zealously,  not  for  his  own 
protection  alone,  but  for  the  protection  of  his  loved  ones,  as 
well.  So  LeBerte  Marchand  thought,  and  so  he  conscien 
tiously  believed.  Therefore,  as  the  years  crept  upon  him, 
leaving  their  silvery  webs  upon  his  brow,  the  more  zealously 
did  the  old  man  guard  his  secret. 

More  than  once,  of  late,  did  he  turn  to  the  old  iron  safe 
in  his  private  room,  a  room  just  off  from  his  bed-room  in 
the  old  home,  and  there  spend  hours  in  looking  over  busi 
ness  papers,  presumably.  He  was  never  disturbed  nor  mo 
lested  while  so  engaged,  a  mark  of  respect  religiously  ob 
served  by  the  other  members  of  the  family. 

It  was  in  this  little  iron  safe  where,  years  and  years  be 
fore,  the  little  golden  locket  had  been  placed  at  the  time  it 

225 


NORKOMA 

was  removed  from  the  person  of  a  child,  and  when  little 
Nbrkoma  was  transformed  into  Walter  Marchand,  the  son 
of  LeBerte  Marchand  and  his  young  and  beautiful  wife. 
There,  in  the  silent  vaults  of  this  old  safe,  it  had  remained 
all  those  years,  a  secret  from  the  whole  world,  itself  having 
faded  from  the  memory  of  the  child  whose  form  it  once 
graced,  now  grown  to  manhood  and  middle  age. 

In  the  days  when  Walter  and  Edith  were  away  from  the 
old  home — when  the  halls  and  rooms  gave  an  empty  sound 
to  the  tread  of  his  weary  feet  or  seemed  to  mock  at  the  tones 
of  his  sorrowful  voice,  LeBerte  Marchand  found  comfort 
and  consolation  in  the  sacredness  of  this  room  where,  alone, 
he  would  fondle  the  little  golden  locket,  and  dream  over 
again  and  again  the  scenes  of  his  happiest  days.  In  this 
little  room,  he  would  often  go  in  those  days  to  hold  com 
munion  with  the  spirit  of  her  who  had  been  his  life,  his 
soul,  his  everything.  It  was  in  this  sacred  little  room  where 
LeBerte  Marchand  learned  to  forget  the  vain  and  fleeting 
things  of  this  world,  and  where  his  life,  his  nature  began 
to  broaden  and  gather  strength  with  which  to  fortify  him 
against  the  besetting  sins  of  the  world.  It  was  in  this  sacred 
room  where,  in  holy  communion  with  the  hallowed  spirits  of 
his  loved  ones  and  with  God,  Marchand  found  consolation, 
light,  rest,  peace  of  mind  and  soul. 

As  the  years  passed  by,  and  the  uncertainty  of  life  slowly 
dawned  upon  Marchand,  he  deemed  it  prudent  and  wise  to 
attach  to  the  little  locket  a  written  statement  of  its  history, 
so  that  in  the  event  of  his  sudden  death,  his  children  should 
know  the  truth,  and  thereupon  act  as  their  better  judgment 
might  dictate.  So  it  was,  that  in  the  days  before  Walter  and 
Edith  had  returned  from  their  colleges,  LeBerte  Marchand 

226 


A  STRONG  RESEMBLANCE 

wrote  a  full  and  complete  history  of  the  locket,  together 
with  a  statement  of  Walter's  life,  so  far  as  he  then  knew. 
Then  attaching  the  same  to  the  golden  locket,  he  placed 
both  in  the  iron  safe,  and,  in  so  doing,  LeBerte  Marchand 
felt  that  he  had  followed  the  wiser  and  better  course,  and 
thereafter  experienced  a  freedom  of  mind,  always  borne  of 
righteous  deeds. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  recent  years  that  Marchand 
felt  any  uneasiness  of  mind  with  relation  to  the  incidents 
and  history  connected  with  the  locket.  How  often,  perhaps, 
he  was  tempted  to  destroy  the  innocent,  little,  golden  memoir 
and  its  accompanying  history,  may  well  be  left  to  conjecture. 
As  frequently,  however,  as  Marchand  went  to  the  iron  safe 
with  the  intention  of  destroying  the  little  locket  and  its 
history  did  he  stop  and  ponder  ere  he  committed  the  deed. 
The  little  thing  seemed  to  possess  a  charm  for  him,  and  as 
he  would  hold  it  in  his  hands,  about  to  cast  it  to  destruction, 
his  mind  would  revert  to  the  days  of  yore,  and  the  determi 
nation  would  falter  and  pass  away.  Then  he  would  settle 
down  in  his  big  chair  beside  the  safe  and  live  over  again,  in 
memory,  the  days  when  little  Norkoma  came  to  his  happy 
home.  He  would  see,  in  fancy,  the  sweet  young  wife,  as  she 
appeared  when  she  attempted  to  take  the  innocent  little 
locket  away  from  her  baby  boy.  He  would  follow  the  pictured 
dream  on  through  the  dark  days  of  grief  and  sorrow,  until  he 
would  be  aroused  from  his  reverie  by  tired  brain  or  aching 
limbs,  then  placing  the  dear  object  back  in  the  safe,  he 
would  say  to  himself,  "N"ot  yet,  not  yet." 

Having  thus,  temporarily,  freed  his  mind  from  the  con-. 
flicting  emotions,  he  would  go  forth  again  to  enjoy  the  lov 
ing  companionship  and  cheerful  sunshine  of  his  peaceful 

227 


NORKOMA 

family.  Upon  one  of  those  occasions,  however,  his  strength 
became  overtaxed,  and  as  he  arose  to  leave  the  room,  con 
sciousness  fled,  the  old  gentleman  falling  to  the  floor,  limp 
and  apparently  lifeless.  The  keen  ear  of  the  good  wife 
caught  the  sound  of  the  fall,  and  she  was  at  her  husband'? 
side  in  a  moment.  In  a  short  while  the  old  gentleman  was  re 
stored  to  his  normal  condition,  but  he  mentally  resolved 
that  thereafter  he  would  exercise  more  prudence.  This  was 
at  a  time  when  the  family  was  enjoying  a  visit  from  two  of 
Edith's  old  schoolmates  who  resided  in  Texas. 

Katherine  Rathbone  and  sister  Dorothy  lived  in  New 
York  and  attended  the  college  which  Edith  attended.  The 
two  sisters  and  Edith  became  warm  friends,  which  friend 
ship  also  included  the  little  music  teacher,  now  the  matronly 
Mrs.  Marchand.  Later,  Katherine,  the  elder  sister,  mar 
ried  a  Mr.  Frederick  Templet  on,  and  they,  with  Dorothy, 
moved  to  Houston,  the  railroad  center  and  metropolis  of 
Texas.  Edith  and  her  friends,  Katherine  and  Dorothy,  had 
kept  in  close  touch  with  each  other,  and  now,  for  the  first 
time  since  their  school  days,  were  realizing  the  extreme 
pleasure  of  a  visit  which  had,  from  year  to  year,  been  post 
poned  on  account  of  one  thing  and  another. 

A  merry  household  was  'The  Cedars"  indeed,  during  the 
visit  of  Mrs.  Templeton  and  Dorothy  Rathbone,  both  of 
whom  were  bright,  intelligent,  beautiful  of  face  and  figure. 
Dorothy  was  not  only  beautiful  and  intelligent,  but  in  music 
was  exceptionally  accomplished.  Though  it  be  considered 
rude  to  speculate  upon  a  woman's  age,  as  a  rule,  the  truth 
is  that  Dorothy  was  beyond  the  age  of  legal  majority  and 
she  was  not  the  least  averse  to  letting  that  fact  be  known, 
an  unusual  thing  for  a  young  woman. 

228 


A  STRONG  RESEMBLANCE 

In  nature  and  general  character,  Edith  and  Dorothy  were 
almost  identical.  What  the  one  loved  the  other  also  loved. 
What  were  the  dislikes  of  the  one  were,  also,  the  dislikes  of 
the  other.  Plain,  unaffected,  honest  simplicity  was  a  strik 
ing  characteristic  of  both.  Whatever  interested  their  close 
friends  was,  also,  of  interest  to  Edith  and  Dorothy.  Edith, 
already  interested  in  municipal  affairs,  had  not  long  to 
wait  until  Dorothy  was  well  under  the  influence  of  the 
contagion.  The  general  subject  of  politics  was  not  altogether 
a  new  field  for  Dorothy,  for  she  had  learned  something  of 
the  art  over  in  Texas,  where,  she  said,  they  sometimes  had 
politics  served  to  them  "right  off  the  griddle." 

Dorothy's  bright,  crisp,  original  style  of  dealing  with  a 
subject  under  argument  was  exceedingly  refreshing  and  inter 
esting  to  both  Walter  Alarchand  and  Joe  Butler.  They  were 
both  charmed  with  her,  and  Dorothy  was  equally  interested 
in  the  two  men.  One  subject  in  particular  which  proved  of 
mutual  interest  to  Dorothy  and  Walter  was,  that  of  the 
proposed  Pan-American  College  of  Commerce,  an  institution 
calculated  to  secure  the  trade  and  commerce  of  Latin- Amer 
ica  for  the  merchant  and  manufacturer  of  the  United  States. 
"How  came  you  to  give  your  attention  to  such  a  huge  and 
ponderous  enterprise,  Dorothy?"  asked  LeBerte  Marchand, 
who,  having  fully  recovered  from  the  fatigue  of  his  lonely 
communion  in  the  little  room  as  above  stated,  was  enjoying 
the  society  of  his  family  and  guests. 

"I  hardly  know  how  I  first  became  interested  in  the  sub 
ject,  but  once  interested,  I  pursued  it  because  I  felt  that  it 
was  the  key  to  the  solution  of  the  problem:  'What  shall  be 
the  commercial  future  of  the  United  States  ?'  " 

229 


NORKOMA 

"It  seems  a  rather  difficult  study  for  a  girl,"  said  But 
ler. 

"Not  at  all.  One  needs  but  ask  the  question:  'Why  are 
the  great  trunk  lines  of  railroad  of  the  middle  states  making 
such  haste  to  reach  the  gulf  ports' ;  and  what  is  the  answer  ?" 

"Well,  they  want  to  be  ready  to  reach  the  Orient  through 
the  Panama  canal  when  it  is  completed.  Is  that  not  the 
reason?"  asked  Walter. 

"Partly  so,  but  not  the  sole  reason.  For  the  sake  of  argu 
ment,  however,  admit  it  to  be  the  sole  reason.  Why  seek  the 
trade  of  the  Orient  and  overlook  a  far  better  field  of  trade 
right  at  our  gulf  ports — Latin- America  ?" 

"I  have  given  no  consideration  to  the  question,"  said 
Butler,  "although  I  have  sometimes  wondered  why  it  was 
that  the  trade  of  Latin-America  was  not  more  eagerly  sought 
after  by  the  exporter  of  the  United  States." 

"It  has  been  eagerly  sought  after,"  replied  Dorothy,  "but 
how?  By  sending  out  catalogues  printed  in  the  English 
language,  and  by  sending  agents  into  those  countries  who 
could  speak  neither  Latin,  Spanish  nor  Portuguese.  Even 
our  government  sends  commercial  agents,  ministers  and 
diplomats  to  those  countries  who  speak  no  other  than  the 
English  language." 

"That,  of  itself,  would  be  sufficient  to  check  any  progress 
in  the  way  of  acquiring  a  commercial  foothold  in  Latin- 
America,"  suggested  Walter,  "and  there  can  easily  be  found 
a  remedy  for  that  evil." 

"What  would  you  suggest  as  a  remedy?"  queried  the 
elder  Marchand,  who  was  now  warming  up  to  the  subject 
under  discussion. 

"The  very  thing  that  has  been  promulgated  for  years  over 

230 


in  Texas,  to-wit,  the  establishing  of  a  Pan-American  Col 
lege  of  Commerce.  In  such  an  institution,  the  future  com 
mercial  agents  for  the  Latin-American  countries  could  be 
trained  and  educated  so  that  when  they  assumed  the  duties 
of  their  respective  stations,  they  could  fluently  speak  and 
write  the  language  of  the  country  in  which  they  were  sta 
tioned;  would  know  the  wants,  needs,  habits  and  customs  of 
the  people,  also  the  topography  and  geography  of  the  coun 
try,  just  as  they  know  that  of  the  United  States.  Then, 
they  would  be  of  some  service  to  their  mother  country, 
whereas,  at  the  present,  and  always  in  the  past,  instead  of 
being  a  benefit,  they  were  more  of  a  drawback  and  a 
hindrance." 

"Now,  you  have  spoken  a  whole  lot  of  truth,  Mr.  Walter," 
said  Dorothy.  "The  situation  you  have  given  is  true  to  life. 
I  have  traveled  some  in  several  of  the  Latin-American  states, 
and  have  there  met  American  traveling  men,  or  agents,  and, 
truly,  I  never  met  but  one  who  could  speak  any  but  the 
English  language.  I  have  met  many  of  our  government 
commercial  agents  and  ministers,  but  never  did  I  find  one 
that  spoke  Spanish." 

"It  would  seem  that  our  government  should  take  more 
interest  in  this  matter,"  said  the  elder  Marchand. 

"Government  never  does  anything  until  there  is  sufficient 
pressure  brought  to  bear  upon  it  by  the  people,  to  stimulate 
to  action,"  said  Butler.  "The  American  merchant  and  man 
ufacturer  are,  primarily,  the  ones  to  press  upon  our  gov 
ernment  the  importance  of  action." 

"No,  not  necessarily  so,"  said  Dorothy,  "for  every  citizen 
of  our  country  is,  or  ought  to  be,  primarily  interested  in 
the  growth,  importance  and  grandeur  of  our  country.  This 

231 


NORKOMA 

is  a  commercial  age,  and  one  of  the  chief  functions  of  the 
government  appears  to  be,  'commercial  expansion  and  ag 
grandizement/  and  to  reach  the  acme,  our  people  and  our 
government  are  running  off  to  fields  of  commerce  thousands 
of  miles  away,  while  Europe  smiles  and  retains  peaceable 
possession  of  the  world's  greatest  and  best  commercial  pas 
tures  right  under  our  noses,  which  is  Latin- America." 

"What  is  the  greatest  factor  in  the  process  by  which  Europe 
retains  the  Latin- American  trade?''  asked  Butler. 

"From  the  most  reliable  sources,  I  am  informed  that 
Latin-America  educates  between  twenty  and  twenty-five  thou 
sand  of  her  sons  and  daughters  in  the  schools  and  colleges  of 
Europe,  annually.  That  is  the  greatest  factor." 

"How  so?"  queried  Butler. 

"Because,  those  who  are  educated  in  foreign  countries 
are  the  children  of  the  prosperous  and  wealthy  class,  that 
means  the  class  who  do  the  commercial  business  of  Latin- 
America.  Every  student  from  those  countries  carries  let 
ters  of  introduction  and  credit  to  the  commercial  houses 
and  banks  in  Europe  with  which  their  fathers,  uncles  or 
friends  are  doing  business,  and  with  which  their  grandfather? 
and  great  grandfathers  did  business,  thus  keeping  up  the 
line  of  social  and  business  acquaintance  of  a  hundred  years, 
perhaps." 

"I  think  I  shall  have  to  come  over  into  Texas  and  learn 
more  about  this  great  project,"  suggested  Walter. 

"We  would  be  glad  to  have  you  come,  Mr.  Walter,"  re 
turned  Dorothy.  "We  have  plenty  of  room  in  Texas  for 
several  big  men  like  you,  and  they  will  be  warmly  welcomed 
by  our  people,  too." 

232 


"Now,  Dorothy,  don't  try  to  flatter  me,  you  know  it  might 
make  me  vain." 

"Oh,  the  idea  of  Walter  Marchand  ever  becoming  vain," 
interjected  Butler.  "I  have  been  trying  for  two  years  to 
make  him  understand  that  he  is  a  big  man,  regardless  of 
stature,  but  he  spurns  my  attempts." 

"Oh,  well,  so  much  the  greater,  he,"  interposed  Edith. 

"Bless  you,  Edith,  you  have  been  so  absorbed  with  some 
serious  thought  all  evening,  you  surprise  me  by  budding  out 
so  suddenly  with  such  high  compliments,"  rejoined  Walter. 

"Ah,  we  have  heard  a  great  deal  ofs  you,  Mr.  Mayor,  away 
over  in  Texas.  Your  fame  has  gone  out  over  the  land  more 
largely  than  you  think  for,"  remarked  Dorothy. 

"We  will  run  him  for  governor  next  time,"  said  Butler, 
laughingly. 

"Now,  Butler,  don't  get  to  'killing  snakes'  again.  You 
know  you  only  bruise  their  tails." 

"By  the  way,  Walter,  did  you  speak  to  the  ladies  about 
the  opera?  The  box  is  at  our  service  for  tonight." 

"No,  I  must  confess  the  matter  completely  slipped  my 
memory.  What  a  forgetful  fellow  I'm  getting  to  be.  But 
we  have  time  to  get  ready.  What  say  you  girls,  mother  and 
father?  Shall  we  all  go?" 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,"  said  Edith.  "We  will  get  ready  at  once. 
Mother  will  be  ready  long  before  the  rest  of  us,  I  am  sure." 

"Well,  mother  doesn't  make  so  many  primps  as  you  girls. 
Do  you  mother?"  said  Walter  as  he  went  over  by  the  mother 
and  gently  encircled  his  arm  around  her  and  reverently 
kissed  her  cheek. 

"No,  my  son,  a  mother  must  expect  to  grow  old  and  ugly, 
you  know,  for  old  father  time  is  an  artist  whose  tracings  upon 

233 


NORKOMA 

the  cheeks  can  not  be  painted  out  by  human  hands,"  replied 
the  mother. 

"But  time  has  not  been  unkind  to  my  dear  mother,  for 
there  are  no  tracings  in  those  fair  cheeks.  Yes,  there  is  one, 
and  I  am  going  to  kiss  it  away.  There,  mother,  it  is  gone,  but 
I'm  sorry,  for  I  think  you  were  prettier  with  it." 

"Oh,  Walter,  my  son,  you  are  so  good  and  gentle  in  all 
your  conduct  that  I  am  sure  I  could  not  scold  you." 

"Why  scold  me?  I  love  my  mother  too  well  to  do  any 
thing  that  would  call  for  her  disapproval.  There  now, 
mother,  get  ready  for  the  opera,  and  we  will  go  and  all 
be  happy  and  young  again/' 

"Walter,  old  boy,"  said  Butler  when  Mrs.  Marchand  had 
left  the  room,  "I'd  give  anything  in  the  world  if  my  mother 
were  living,  to  have  the  opportunity  of  doing  what  I  have 
just  witnessed.  You  must  certainly  be  happy,  if  for  no 
other  reason  on  earth  than  the  fact  that  you  can  and  do 
cause  that  dear  old  mother  of  yours  so  much  joy  by  your 
kind,  loving  conduct  toward  her." 

"Well,  no  son  ever  loved  a  mother  more  than  I  love  that 
good,  sweet  mother  of  mine,  and,  of  course,  I  take  pleasure 
in  trying  to  make  her  happy." 

"I  could  have  been  better  to  my  mother.  I  was  rather 
young  when  she  died,  and  I  presume  I  was  like  most  young 
men,  too  smart,  too  self-willed,  and  too  inconsiderate  of  the 
blessings  of  a  good  mother." 

"Say,  Joe,  you  can  make  up  for  some  of  your  youthful  in 
discretions  by  being  good  to  old  Aunt  Dinah." 

"I  will  certainly  be  good  to  the  old  darky.  That  is  the 
only  thing  that  I  have  upon  which  to  practice  real  charity." 

234 


A  STRONG  RESEMBLANCE 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  You  like  to  tease  the  snakes.  Ha,  ha, 
ha." 

"Say,  old  boy,  I'll  give  you  a  birthday  present  if  you'll 
let  up  on  that  snake  story.  When  is  your  birthday? 

"I've  forgotten,  but  here  comes  mother,  she  will  know.  Say, 
my  mother,  dear,  when  is  my  birthday?  I  am  about  to  re 
ceive  a  present/' 

"Keally,  Walter,  the  record,  as  shown  in  the  old  family 
Bible,  appears  to  be  uncertain  about  the  date  of  your  birth. 
You  know  I  am  not  your  real  mother." 

"Of  course,  but  no  real  mother  could  be  sweeter,  gentler 
or  more  beautiful  in  heart  and  soul.  Sometimes  I  feel  like 
you  are  my  real  mother." 

"Yes,  my  son,  and  I  often  wish  I  were  your  real  mother." 

"No  real  son  and  mother  ever  resembled  each  other  more, 
I  am  certain,"  said  Butler.  "I  never  saw  a  stronger  re 
semblance." 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Walter.  "Hello,  here 
come  the  girls,  and  here  is  father.  Now  let  us  be  off:  the 
carriages  await  us." 

"Lead  on,  McDuff,  lead  on,"  cried  Dorothy  with  a  bright 
twinkle  in  her  eye,  "and  last  be  he  who  shall  first  cry,  hold." 


235 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  CURTAIN  LECTURE. 

Butler's  remark,  to  the  effect  that  there  was  a  striking 
resemblance  between  Mrs,  Marchand  and  her  son  Walter, 
left  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  upon  the  mind  of  the 
mistress  of  "The  Cedars."  Why  such  should  be  the  case, 
she  did  not  know.  The  remark  that,  "I  never  saw  a  stronger 
resemblance,"  rang  in  the  little  woman's  ears  and  preyed 
upon  her  mind  during  the  entire  evening,  the  entertainment 
being  secondary  only,  for  her.  She  could  not  drive  the 
thought  from  her  mind,  though  she  kept  her  own  counsel, 
and  said  nothing.  When  her  head  rested  upon  the  pillow  and 
her  eyes  closed  for  sleep  that  night,  neither  rest  nor  sleep 
came  to  the  poor,  troubled  woman.  She  argued  with  her 
self,  thus : 

"Why  does  this  foolish  thought  cling  to  my  mind  with 
such  tenacity?  There  can  be  no  possibility  of  such  a  dream 
ever  proving  true.  0  God,  that  it  were  a  reality,  or  that  in 
some  mysterious  manner  it  might  yet  prove  to  be  true.  Why 
did  Mr.  Butler  make  such  a  remark?  He  is  an  honest  man, 
and  must  have  observed  a  resemblance  between  us,  other 
wise  he  would  not  have  suggested  it.  I  can  not  judge,  for  I 
do  not  know  how  I  look.  No  person  knows  how  he  looks, 
as  compared  with  some  other  person.  But  I  know  what 

236 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

I  shall  do  tomorrow.  I  shall  compare  our  pictures.  I  will 
use  for  that  purpose  a  photograph  I  had  taken  when  I  was 
a  young  girl,  and  of  Walter  I  will  use  one  he  had  taken 
about  the  time  he  went  to  college.  But,  pshaw !  What  good 
will  that  do?  He  is  LeBerte  Marchand's  son,  so,  of  course, 
there  can  be  no  possibility  of — Why  has  LeBerte  Marchand 
avoided  a  conversation  with  me  as  to  the  strange  relation 
ship  between  Edith  and  Walter,  and — and  the  family  record 
in  the  Bible?  Oh,  I  must  be  going  wild.  Why  do  I  not 
becalm  myself.  Pshaw !  ]STorma  Marchaud,  you  are  a  silly 
little  fool,  that  is  what  you  are.  There,  now.  But  what 
mother's  heart  would  not  be  foolish  if  her  mind  be  filled 
with  such  ambitions,  such  perplexing  hopes  and  fears?  Well, 
I  will  be  quiet.  I  will  force  myself  to  forget,  and  go  to 
sleep.  I  will  count — one,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six — no,  I 
will  imagine  I  see  sheep  jumping  a  fence,  and  I  will  count 
them.  There !  There  is  a  bunch  of  sheep,  and  there  is  a 
fence.  Pshaw !  The  fence  is  not  high  enough.  There  to 
the  left  is  a  higher  one,  and  the  sheep  are  going  that  way. 
Hold  on,  there,  not  so  fast.  Now,  there  one  jumped,  two, 
three,  fo-ur,  f-i-v-e,  s-i-x".  The  poor,  tired,  little  woman 
fell  asleep.  It  was  a  troubled  sleep,  however — a  sleep  that 
brought  rest  to  neither  mind  nor  body — a  sleep  filled  with 
fancies  and  dreams. 

Morning  dawned,  and  the  sun  rose  bright  and  clear  over 
the  eastern  horizon.  It  was  in  the  early  springtime,  and 
the  feathered  songsters  sang  gleefully  to  their  mates  in  the 
boughs  and  branches  of  the  tall  trees  that  graced  the  grounds 
surrounding  the  old  home.  Mrs.  Marchand  heard  the  silvery 
notes  of  bird  melody  as  they,  with  gleams  of  sunshine,  floated 
in  through  her  half  open  window. 

237 


NORKOMA 

"How  happy  those  little  birds  must  be/'  said  she,  with  a 
sigh.  "Without  a  care  for  .the  morrow,  are  they.  And 
their  homes  are  in  the  trees,  meadows,  fields  and  woods, 
while  we  human  mortals  toil  and  labor  and  aspire  until  we 
acquire  wealth,  fame  and  power,  thinking  those  will  bring 
us  happiness  and  pleasure.  When  we  have  attained  all  that 
our  younger  hearts  believed  was  necessary  to  our  complete 
happiness,  we  then  begin  to  realize  that  our  lives  are  almost 
spent,  and  that  the  power  to  enjoy  has  passed  away.  Oh. 
that  eternal,  restless  spirit  which  inhabits  the  human  breast, 
can  it  ever  be  satiated?  It  is  like  the  waters  of  a  troubled 
sea.  With  all  that  I  have  around  me,  a  kind  and  loving 
husband,  affectionate  children,  a  good  home,  every  need 
supplied,  every  whim  gratified,  and,  withal,  my  restless  spirit 
will  not  be  quiet.  It  calls  for  my  long  lost  baby,  my  child, 
the  child  of  my  own  blood.  Yet,  if  he  were  to  be  found, 
who  knows  what  pain  and  sorrow  the  finding  might  bring. 
The  picture !  The  pictures !  I  will  compare  the  photo 
graphs  !" 

The  little  mother  sprang  excitedly  from  her  couch,  and 
taking  from  a  drawer  an  old  album,  turned  to  a  picture,  a 
tintype,  taken  of  her  when  she  was  about  nineteen  years  of 
age.  In  another  album  she  found  a  photograph  of  Walter, 
taken  when  he  was  a  boy  of  about  the  same  age.  Then,  sit 
ting  down  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  laid  the  two  albums  out 
before  her  and  carefully  compared  the  photographs. 

"I  know  I  am  foolish.  Strangers  might  discern  a  re 
semblance,  but  I  can  not.  Just  because  Mr.  Butler  made  a 
chance  remark  that  there  was  a  striking  resemblance,  I  have 
tortured  myself  all  night  long.  I  must  put  a  stop  to  this 
foolishness,  for  there  can  be  no  such  possibility  that  I  am 

238 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

the  mother  of  Walter  Marchand.  Even  if  I  were,  we  could 
not  love  each  other  differently  nor  more  strongly  than  we  do 
now.  What  could  be  gained  if  such  were  the  conditions? 
Our  relations  would  remain  as  now.  Oh,  it  has  been  very 
foolish  in  me  to  act  in  this  manner — to  torture  myself  over 
an  impossible  condition.  I  hope  I  may  have  the  strength 
and  bravery  never  to  allow  my  foolish  heart  to  dream  of 
such  impossible  things  again.  I  will  drive  the  thoughts 
from  my  mind,  and  then  I  will  be  as  happy  as  those  inno 
cent  little  birds  out  there  in  the  trees.  If  people  were  not 
tempted  with  foolish  and  sometimes  unholy  ambitions  and 
desires,  they  would  be  happy.  The  only  ambition  that  it  is 
safe  to  harbor  in  the  human  heart  is  the  ambition  to  live 
an  upright,  honorable  and  honest  life." 

Having  calmed  herself,  the  little  woman  quickly  donned 
her  robes  and  passed  out  into  the  beautiful  grounds  to  enjoy 
the  fresh,  balmy  morning.  She  was  somewhat  surprised  at 
being  hailed  by  Walter,  who  had  risen  early  and  gone  into 
the  grounds  to  read  or  ponder  over  some  perplexing  problem, 
as  was  his  custom. 

"Hello,  little  mother,"  said  he.  "Come  over  here  and  sit 
with  me  upon  this  old  rustic." 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Early  Bird.  After  the  worms,  I 
suppose,"  answered  the  mother. 

"Yes,  appeasing  the  worm  of  unrest,  the  ambition  for 
knowledge.  I  have  been  reading  a  report  made  to  the  Texas 
legislature  by  a  committee,  relating  to  the  proposed  Pan- 
American  College  of  Commerce.  Do  you  know,  it  is  a  very 
interesting  subject." 

"I  suppose  so,  my  son,  especially  to  those  who  care  to 
wrestle  with  the  great  problems  which,  when  solved,  help 

239 


NORKOMA 

to  shape  the  destinies  of  nations.  I  appreciate  the  great 
benefit  which  such  an  institution  would  be  to  the  whole 
country,  and  especially  to  the  Gulf  States.  I  hope  the  project 
may  be  consummated." 

"Sometimes  I  feel  that,  when  my  term  of  office  expires,  I 
shall  then  devote  my  whole  life,  if  need  be,  to  the  promulga 
tion  of  this  great  project,  and  especially  to  aid  in  procuring 
its  establishment  somewhere  upon  the  gulf  coast.  It  seems 
so  plain  to  me,  that  with  proper  exertions  upon  the  part  of 
the  people  in  this  behalf,  the  governments  interested  would 
not  hesitate  in  taking  up  and  completing  the  matter.  It 
would  mean  that  the  trade  of  Latin- America  would  be  trans 
ferred  from  Europe  to  the  United  States,  and  that  would 
mean  great  things  for  the  ports  of  the  Gulf  States." 

"I  fear  you  are  overtaxing  your  strength.  Do  not  be 
too  ambitious,  but  learn  to  take  the  labors  of  your  life  more 
easily.  Pardon  me,  my  son,  do  you  never  feel  that  you  should 
have  a  home  of  your  own,  with  wife  and  loved  ones  around 
you?" 

"W]hy,  mother,  you  are  not  tired  of  me  at  "The  Cedars, 
are  you?" 

"No.  no,  no,  my  son.  The  natural  state  of  a  good  man  is 
at  the  head  of  a  family  of  his  own.  You  are  losing  so  much 
of  life,  working,  toiling  and  struggling  as  you  are  for  the 
people,  alone,  forgetting  yourself.  By  so  doing  you  are 
losing  the  sweeter  portion  of  life,  which,  by  and  by,  you 
will  seriously  regret.  It  seems  that  both  you  and  Edith  are 
strangely  unconcerned  about  the  present  and  the  future.  I 
speak  of  this  matter,  my  son,  only  as  a  fond  and  loving 
mother." 

"Yes,  mother,  I  know  that,  and  I  appreciate  your  kind 

240 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

words.  But  there  is  something  peculiar  about  our  lives  that 
neither  Edith  nor  myself  understand.  We  are  brother  and 
sister  of  one  blood,  yet  we  have  that  strange  fascination  for 
each  other  that  is  born,  of  the  wildest  extremes.  We  love 
each  other,  and  have  so  loved  from  the  time  we  were  little 
children.  We  were  lovers  in  our  nurseries,  in  our  school 
days,  in  our  college  days,  and  are  still  sweethearts,  rather 
than  brother  and  sister." 

"It  is,  indeed,  strange.  I  often  read  the  letters  which 
you  wrote  to  Edith  while  she  was  in  college,  and  sometimes 
read  the  letters  which  she  wrote  to  you.  I  remember  how 
you  poured  out  your  young  and  tender  heart,  and  likewise 
did  Edith,  in  return.  I  never  knew  of  a  similar  case,  and  I 
doubt  whether  any  there  be.  At  any  rate,  it  would  appear 
that  each  of  you  might  find  some  other  companionable  heart  to 
love  and  cherish,  since  you  are  brother  and  sister." 

"I  do  not  know,  I  never  expected  to  bear  such  a  love  for 
another  girl  as  I  have  borne  for  Edith,  yet  it  might  be 
possible  that  I  should.  I  realize  the  wisdom  of  your  sug 
gestions,  and  if  Edith  would  only  find  some  one  whom  she 
could  love  and  marry,  perhaps  I  should  take  courage  and 
follow  suit." 

"I  think  Edith  likes  Mr.  Butler—" 

"What? — I  beg  your  pardon,  mother,  I  meant  to  say,  do 
you  really  think  she  loves  Butler  ?" 

"I  did  not  say,  love.  I  really  think  she  likes  Mr.  Butler. 
I  fear,  however,  that  Mr.  Butler  is  too  much  enamored  with 
Dorothy.  Don't  you  think  so,  my  son?" 

"Well,  now,  I  had  begun  to  like  Dorothy  a  little,  myself. 
But  not  enough  to  cause  me*  the  loss  of  sleep.  So  Butler 
likes  Dorothy,  eh?" 

241 


NORKOMA 

"Yes,  I  think  he  does,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  his 
feelings  are  somewhat  reciprocated.  I  think  Dorothy  really 
likes  Butler,  too." 

"Well,  Joe  Butler  is  a  good,  noble  fellow,  but  Dorothy 
must  not  stand  in  the  way  of  my  little  sister,  if  Edith  has 
any  heart  for  him.  I  had  hoped,  formerly,  that  Edith  and 
myself  might  live  on  forever  as  in  the  present  and  past,  but 
I  now  see  that  it  is  wrong,  and  that  we  are  blind  to  our  own 
better  interests.  If  Edith  should  ever  marry,  I  would  rather 
she  would  marry  Butler  than  any  other  person  I  know,  for  he 
is  noble,  good  and  true.  Besides,  he  is  one  of  the  best  friends 
I  have  ever  had." 

"Dorothy  is  a  splendid  little  woman.  I  knew  her  well 
while  she  was  in  college,  and  I  knew  -her  to  be  all  that  man 
can  expect  of  woman.  No  two  souls  were  ever  more  nearly 
similar  in  all  respects  than  are  Edith  and  Dorothy.  Who 
ever  could  love  the  one,  could  not  help  loving  the  other, 
also." 

"Yes,  mother  dear,  I  believe  you.  Eeally,  I  think  I  could 
love  Dorothy  equally  as  well  as  Edith,  were  it  not  for  the 
life-long  companionship  of  sister  and  myself.  From  baby 
hood  days  we  have  been  constant  companions,  and,  in  a  sense, 
sweethearts." 

"Certainly,  but  childhood  days  are  gone,  my  son,  and  with 
them  the  dreams,  the  glimpses  of  fairy  land.  You  are  now 
looking  back  over  a  decade  as  you  once  looked  back  over  a 
six-months.  Months  and  years  are  now  passing  by  more 
swiftly  than  did  your  youthful  days.  In  your  youth,  you 
looked  forward  along  your  future  pathway,  which  was  lighted 
with  the  lamps  of  ambition  and  hope,  and  the  days  and  weeks 
dragged  heavily  along,  all  but  too  slowly.  It  is  different 

242 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

now.  By  and  by  the  days  of  your  strong  and  reliant  man 
hood  will  begin  to  wane,  and  you  will  then  realize  that  your 
bark  is  upon  an  eddying  stream  which  is  rushing  rapidly 
toward  the  grave.  The  outlines  of  your  earthly  sphere  that 
once  lay  in  broad  expanse  before  your  hopeful  vision  will 
then  begin  to  draw  closer  and  closer  until  you  will  be  sur 
rounded  by  great  mountain  peaks  and  ranges,  through  which 
there  is  no  passage,  and  within  which  you  will  be  entombed 
with  ever  narrowing  limits,  from  which  no  human  being 
can  aid  you  to  escape.  Then  you  will  look  backward  and 
ponder  over  what  your  life  might  have  been.  In  fancy,  will 
you  see  what  might  have  been  your  fair-haired  boy  and 
your  brown-eyed  girl  playing  fondly  around  a  happy  father's 
knee.  You  may  see  your  good  and  loving  wife  standing  at 
the  gate  to  welcome  the  husband  home,  and  you  will  hear 
the  music  of  a  happy  fireside,  by  far  sweeter  than  ten  thou 
sand  stringed  harps.  Then,  to  awake  from  your  fancy's 
dream,  a  soul's  sickness  will  possess  you  and  hold  you  bound, 
for  you  will  then  realize  that  it  is  too  late.  The  sweets  of 
the  life  you  should  have  enjoyed  are  passed  from  you  for 
ever.  Then  will  come  seclusion,  loss  of  friends,  decay,  until 
you  walk  in  silence  and  alone,  brooding,  grieving,  sorrowing, 
with  no  one  to  love,  and  none  to  love  and  cherish  you.  At 
last,  you  pass  away  from  the  busy  throngs,  and  the  world 
moves  on  as  before.  Then  you — 

"Hold,  mother  dear,  your  picture  is  too  sad,  I  do  not 
wish  to  hear  more,  I  do  not  care  to  follow." 

"But  it  is  a  true  picture,  my  son,  and  I  trust  you  may 
never  experience  the  sadness  of  its  truth." 

"I  know  how  true  it  must  be,  for  as  you  drew  the  picture, 
there  came  before  my  mind's  eye  several  characters  whom 

243 


NORKOMA 

I  know,  and  who  have  realized  its  sad  truth.  I  know  that 
sister  and  I  have  been  wasting  our  lives,  but  the  mystery, 
the  mystery  of  it  all." 

"Well,  my  son,  waiting  and  postponing  will  not  better 
conditions." 

"No,  I  presume  not.  But  I  have  so  much  before  me  to 
be  done.  It  is  duty,  duty,  duty.  Duty  is  always  staring 
me  in  the  face,  whether  I  sleep  or  wake.  I  should  never 
find  the  time  to  devote  to  the  question  of  marriage." 

"If  you  find  the  girl  and  fall  in  love  with  her,  there  will 
appear  a  way.  Do  you  remember  the  song,  'Love  Will  Find 
the  Way?'" 

The  mother  and  son  were  taken  by  surprise  when  Edith 
and  Dorothy  suddenly  rushed  upon  them  with : 

"Well,  well,  our  dear  little  children,  we  have  been  search 
ing  everywhere  for  you.  We  feared  some  wild  animals  had 
actually  eaten  you." 

"Yes,  and  we  were  also  fearful  lest  some  big  bandit  had 
carried  you  off  and  would  hold  you  for  a  ransom,"  added 
'Dorothy. 

<fWho  would  have  ever  paid  the  ransom  to  have  recovered 
us  poor  little  children,"  laughingly  suggested  Walter. 

"Oh,  we  would  have  gone  to  Mr.  Butler  and  had  him  ad 
vertise  for  you,  the  first  thing.  Then,  we  intended  to  take 
up  a  public  subscription,  you  know,  for  we  did  not  intend  that 
an  opportunity  for  excitement  should  escape  us,"  said 
Dorothy. 

"I  will  warrant  that  if  there  were  to  be  an  opportunity  for 
excitement,  the  pair  of  twins  would  not  overlook  it,"  sug 
gested  Walter. 

"We  were  intending  to  bring  your  breakfast  out  to  you, 

244 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

in  case  you  were  held  for  ransom  and  were  hungry/'  sug 
gested  Edith.  '"'But  seeing  you  were  only  detained  by  the 
ties  of  nature  and  a  beautiful  morning,  we  cordially  invite 
you  to  join  us  at  breakfast,  for  Katherine  and  father  must 
be  starving,  since  we  have  been  waiting  so  very  long." 

"Gracious  sakes !  I  had  forgotten  all  about  breakfast. 
Mother's  curtain  lecture  has  been  so  absorbingly  interest 
ing,  I  quite  forgot  all  else.  And  I  had  promised  to  be  at 
the  office  bright  and  early,  too." 

"There  goes!  That  old  office  makes  a  regular  slave  out 
of  my  big  brother,"  cried  Edith. 

"What  is  that  old  saying,  something  like  this?  'We  are 
slaves  to  a  horde  of  petty  tyrants.'  That  statement  applies, 
I  presume,  to  such  public  officials  as  Mayors,  does  it  not, 
Mr.  Whiter?"  asked  Dorothy. 

"Indeed  it  does,  and  it  applies  with  equal  force  to  law 
yers." 

"Oh,  the  lawyers,  the  lawyers,  they " 

"Dear  me,  children,  do  not  be  so  tardy,  lest  we  starve 
Katherine  and  father,  while  we  stand  here  and  argue  so 
cial,  political,  economical  and  nonsensical  questions,"  said 
Edith.  Then  taking  the  mother  by  the  hand,  preceded  Dor 
othy  and  Walter,  who  were  left  to  follow  at  will. 

The  "curtain  lecture,"  as  Walter  had  termed  the  conversa 
tion  with  his  mother,  left  an  impression  upon  his  mind  that 
was  not  only  lasting,  but  effective.  As  Walter  mentally  re 
viewed  the  picture  again,  there  came  to  him  a  half  notion 
that  he  would  begin  laying  plans  for  his  future  home  life. 
He  liked  Dorothy,  and  for  aught  he  knew,  his  feeling  might 
take  a  more  serious  turn  if  given  an  opportunity.  Again, 
Dorothy  was  a  student  of  political  economics,  such  as  had 

245 


NORKOMA 

absorbed  his  very  soul.  That  was  one  important  point  in 
common  between  them.  Dorothy  also  lived  in  Texas,  which 
State,  at  first  glance,  would  appear  to  be  the  logical  location 
of  a  great  International  Exposition  of  Commerce  for  the 
nations  of  the  whole  Western  Hemisphere,  because  of  its 
being  the  very  center  of  the  Western  world,  therefore  more 
favorable  for  transportation  by  both  land  and  sea.  Walter 
had  resolved  that,  upon  the  expiration  of  his  term  of  office, 
he  would  visit  Texas  at  all  hazards,  and  there  study  the  con' 
ditions  as  to  the  proposed  Pan-American  College  of  Com 
merce.  And  who,  more  than  Dorothy,  could  afford  him 
better  or  more  pleasant  opportunities  for  that  purpose  ?  Dor- 
othy  had  acquainted  herself  with  the  entire  situation  in 
Texas.  She  had  traveled  in  Mexico,  Peru,  Chile,  and  other 
Spanish-American  States,  and  knew  something  of  the  con 
ditions  there;  besides,  she  spoke  the  Spanish  language  as 
fluently  as  she  did  the  English.  What  an  inspiring  com 
panion,  should  it  so  happen  that  their  lives  should  be  thrown 
together  in  this  great  work  of  promulgating  such  an  institu 
tion,  by  and  through  which  the  merchant  and  manufacturer 
of  the  United  States  should  capture  the  trade  of  all  Latin- 
America.  What  teeming  millions  of  commerce  would  then 
flow  through  the  ports  of  Galveston,  Houston,  New  Orleans 
and  other  Gulf  ports.  Mere  rapidly  than  pen  can  describe 
did  these  thoughts  flash  across  Walter's  mind,  as  did  many 
other  inspiring  conceptions  of  the  future  greatness  of  the 
great  Southwest,  until  he  was  wholly  oblivious  to  all  around 
him,  and  until  he  was  awakened  from  his  reverie  by  a  tug 
ging  at  his  sleeve,  and  a  sweet,  silvery  voice  saying: 

"A  penny  for  your  thoughts,  Mr.  Walter.     I  would  offer 
more,  but  I  am  flat  broke.    Won't  you  make  me  a  loan?" 

246 


A  CURTAIN  LECTURE 

"Certainly,  certainly.  How  much  money  do  you  want?" 
said  Walter,  half  abstractedly.  Then  turning  to  his  compan 
ion,  lie  realized  the  true  situation,  and  said :  "I  beg  your 
pardon,  Dorothy.  I  was,  for  the  moment,  abstracted,  t 
hope  there  is  no  offense?" 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  Oh,  Mr.  Walter!  That  curtain  lecture 
seems  to  have  set  rather  hard  upon  you.  Was  it  a  lecture 
upon  'official  duty'?" 

"No,  Dorothy.  Part  of  it  consisted  in  praise  of  your 
dear,  good  self.  I  must  confess  that,  since  you  caught  me 
red  handed,  my  present  abstracted  condition  of  mind  in 
cluded  you  within  the  dream,  for  dream  it  was.  I  had  been 
thinking  of  Texas.  I  had  almost  concluded  to  make  a  visit 
to  that"  great  State  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the  country, 
and  incidentally  studying  the  situation  as  to  the  projected 
Pan-American  College  of  Commerce.  In  that  event,  will 
you  play  the  role  of  teacher?" 

"I  shall  be  pleased  to  afford  you  every  facility  at  my  poor 
command,"  answered  Dorothy,  in  a  more  serious  mood. 

'•'And  will  you  become  a  co-student  of  the  question,  also?" 

"I  could  not  lose  interest  in  the  subject  now,  for  it  means 
a  great  deal  to  Texas  and  the  Gulf  States.  Besides,  the 
consummation  of  the  project  is  almost  assured,  either  as  a 
government  or  a  private  proposition.  Yes,  I  will  be  pleased 
to  join  you  in  the  furtherance  of  the  project." 

"Then,  under  those  conditions,  I  shall  come  to  Texas,  and 
I  am  sure  we  shall  become  great  friends,  and  perhaps " 

"Children,  children,  why  in  the  world  do  you  not  come 
to  your  breakfast?"  shouted  Edith  from  the  dining  room 
window,  nearby. 

"We  are  coming,  sister,"  returned  Walter. 

247 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
THE  MAYOR'S  TEOUBLES. 

Municipal  affairs  were  now  moving  along  smoothly/  with 
Walter  Marchand  as  the  chief  executive  head  of  the  city 
government.  It  had  been  prophesied  by  some  that  the  new 
administration  would  ruin  the  city  by  a  system  of  radical 
changes  and  reforms,  but  now,  that  almost  a  year  had  passed 
and  there  had  been  no  harm  done,  the  more  frightened  ones 
began  to  feel  a  greater  sense  of  security  under  the  Marchand 
regime.  True,  he  had  put  a  quietus  on  high  handed  crime, 
such  as  the  indiscriminate  sale  of  cocaine,  morphine,  and 
other  poisonous  drugs.  He  had  effectually  put  the  disgrace 
ful  variety  theaters  and  dance  halls  out  of  business,  and  the 
public  advertising  of  those  places  upon  the  streets  of  the 
city  had  become  a  thing  of  the  past.  He  had  rid  the  city  of 
the  many  footpads,  confidence  men  and  bunco  steerers,  so 
that  the  security  of  the  citizens  was  assured  upon  the  streets, 
while  the  general  air  of  the  city  caused  a  feeling  of  pride 
in  the  government. 

The  Marchand  administration  had  directed  its  efforts  to 
the  correction  of  the  many  abuses  and  shortcomings  of  the 
various  public  service  corporations,  but  it  had  not  overstepped 
the  bounds  of  reason  and  good  judgment  in  the  matter.  It 
had  not  sought  to  make  a  show,  or  play  to  the  galleries,  for 

248 


political  purposes.  It  went  about  the  matter  just  as  a  busi 
ness  man  would  go  about  adjusting  his  business  affairs  with 
a  private  corporation,  or  other  business  concern,  yet  those 
concerns  were  made  to  understand  that  the  city  officials 
meant  business.  There  was  no  spleen  to  vent,  no  "bile"  to 
throw  off,  no  venom  to  spew  out,  and  no  political  debts  to 
pay.  Consequently,  official  authority  was  not  used  to  em 
barrass  local  service  corporations,  nor  was  it  permitted  to 
be  used  as  a  tool  for  the  political  purposes  or  gains  of  any 
individual  or  set  of  men.  i 

Marchand  and  his  associates  used  good  judgment  in  the 
exercise  of  their  official  functions,  and  when  a  public  util 
ity  corporation  was  guilty  of  any  wrong,  or  derelict  to  any 
duty,  it  was  called  into  consultation  with  the  Mayor  and 
his  associates.  This  was  done  quietly,  without  any  blowing 
of  trumpets,  and  an  understanding  was  had.  It  was  always 
arranged  in  such  a  manner  that  the  abuse  at  once  ceased, 
and  the  wrong  was  remedied,  but  if  the  representative  of  the 
corporation  became  stubborn  and  unwilling  to  submit  to 
what  appeared  to  be  just  and  right,  he  was  given  to  under 
stand  that  the  Mayor  and  city  officials  were  vested  with 
sufficient  power  and  authority  to  enforce  their  just  demands. 

The  administration  was  aware  of  the  fact  that  there  had 
been  permitted  to  grow  up  many  abuses  through  the  slack 
methods  of  former  administrations.  That  on  account  of  non 
interference  of  long  standing,  the  abuses  became  so  well  en 
trenched  and  firmly  established  that  the  plea  of  "vested 
rights"  was  entitled  to  some  show  of  respectability.  Again, 
the  fact  that,  sometimes,  the  public  was  apt  to  be  too  ready 
to  criticise  and  complain  upon  grounds  barely  justifiable, 
was  not  lost  sight  of  by  Marchand  and  his  associates.  Each 

249 


NORKOMA 

side  of  a  case  was  well  considered,  and  equal  fairness  and 
justice  to  both  sides  was  the  object  to>  be  obtained. 

The  local  superintendants  of  the  various  public  service  cor 
porations  began  to  learn  that,  if  they  would  do  justice  to 
the  people,  there  would  be  no  vexaition,  no  harassing,  no  re 
buking,  and  no  humiliation.  They  also  began  to  under 
stand  that,  unless  a  spirit  of  fairness  and  justice  to  the 
people  was  promptly  exemplified  and  maintained,  they 
would,  unquestionably,  be  forced  to  do  right. 

It  was  during  the  period  when  these  managers  and  super 
intendents  of  public  service  corporations  were  being  fre 
quently  interviewed  by  the  Mayor  and  city  officials,  that 
Mr.  White,  the  manager  of  'the  waterworks,  felt  aggrieved 
because  the  citizens  of  White  Oak  Addition  had  been  per 
sistently  appealing  for  a  water  connection  with  the  main 
part  of  the  city.  White  Oak  Addition  was  a  neat,  prosperous 
suburb,  though  a  part  of  the  city  proper,  because  it  was  with 
in  the  legal  city  limits.  The  citizens  of  this  suburb  paid 
their  city  taxes  regularly,  thus  helping  to  support  the  city 
government,  and  they  felt  that  they  were  entitled  to  some 
consideration  at  the  hands  of  the  city,  at  least  to  the  benefit 
of  fire  protection. 

"Our  company  can  not  afford  to  lay  a  water  main  out  to 
White  Oak  Addition,"  said  Mr.  White  to  the  Mayor,  "be 
cause  there  are  too  few  residences  along  the  street  between 
that  place  and  where  our  mains  now  extend.  We  could  not 
hope  to  make  a  profit  on  that  extension  inside  of  a  year  or 
two,  should  we  make  the  improvement." 

"Your  company  is  making  good  profits  now,  is  it  not?" 
asked  the  Mayor. 

"Yes,  it  is  doing  well  enough,  but  it  wants  to  be  let  alone 

250 


THE  MAYOR'S  TROUBLES 

for  the  time  being.  If  we  are  forced  to  put  in  extensions 
to  all  the  additions  to  the  city,  we  can  not  hope  to  pay  a 
dividend.  We  certainly  have  a  right  to  expect  a  fair  return 
upon  our  investment."' 

"The  extension  to  White  Oak  Addition  would  add  to  the 
value  of  your  plant,  would  it  not?  Men  go  into  business 
enterprises  frequently  not  expecting  the  business  to  pay  a 
profit  for  a  year  or  more.  In  this  case,  the  investment  would 
prove  a  good  paying  one  within  a  year,  would  it  not?" 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is  no  question  about  that.  It  would  pay 
eventually." 

"Do  you  ever  consider  the  fact  that  those  citizens  are  help 
ing  to  sustain  the  city  government  by  the  payment  of  their 
city  tax'es,  and  that  the  city  government  pays  your  company 
about  forty  thousand  dollars  per  year  for  the  public  hydrants, 
and  charges  you  nothing  for  the  use  of  the  streets  and  alleys  ? 
Should  not  those  White  Oak  citizens  have  some  considera 
tion  at  the  hands  of  the  city  and  your  company?  Is  it  not 
due  to  them  that  they  be  afforded  some  relief  at  our  hands  ?" 

"Well,  I  can  not  see  what  my  company  has  to  do  with 
that;  we  are  not  in  the  insurance  business." 

"True,  Mr.  White,  but  you  are  using  the  public  streets  of 
the  city  for  the  transaction  of  your  business.  For  this,  the 
city  derives  no  compensation,  and  at  the  same  time  pays  you 
a  high  rate  for  the  water  that  is  used  for  public  purposes, 
while  the  citizens  pay  you  a  still  higher  rate  for  the  water 
used  for  private  purposes.  The  rights  you  thus  enjoy  are 
valuable  rights,  and  they  belong  to  the  whole  people,  the  citi 
zens  of  White  Oak  Addition  included.  When  the  citizens 
granted  you  the  privilege  to  use  the  streets  and  alleys  for 
the  conduct  of  your  business,  they  expected  you  to  treat 

251 


NORKOMA 

them  with  fairness  and  just  consideration  of  their  needs. 
Now  let  me  ask  you,  can  you  not  make  this  much  needed 
extension,  and  still  make  a  good  profit  upon  the  business 
for  the  whole  city?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I  suppose  so.  But  we  do  not  figure  on  the  mat 
ter  that  way.  We  figure  on  each  extension  making  a  profit 
when  the  extension  is  completed.  "We  can  not  afford  to  build 
up  the  various  additions  to  the  city  by  making  extensions  at 
our  own  expense,  thereby  affording  modern  facilities  to  spec 
ulators  in  real  estate." 

"Now,  right  there  is  where  you  local  managers  and  super 
intendents  of  public  service  corporations  make  a  great  mis 
take.  You  fail  to  recognize  the  fact  that  you  are  virtually 
in  partnership  with  the  city,  and  that  the  growth  of  the 
city  insures  the  growth  and  prosperity  of  your  plants  and 
business.  You  overlook  the  fact  that  it  is  by  the  permis 
sion  of  the  people  that  you  are  operating  your  plant  in  the 
heart  of  the  city,  where  the  service  affords  you  enormous 
profits.  Whenjhe  people  ask  you  to  extend  your  water  mains 
further  out  to  the  less  thickly  populated  portions  of  the  city 
for  their  benefit,  and  where  the  service  will  not  pay  so  great 
a  profit,  you  protest.  You  forget  that  it  is  out  of  the  rights 
and  privileges  which  you  enjoy  that  you  make  your  profits. 
Those  rights  and  privileges  are  your  most  valuable  assets, 
yet  in  truth  and  in  fact  they  belong  to  the  people.  You  fel 
lows  will  not  see  that  fact,  but  persistently  look  at  the  mat 
ter  from  the  standpoint  of  your  own,  personal,  selfish  inter 
ests,  until  the  people  are  brought  to  the  knowledge  that  you 
are  abusing  thfe  rights  and  privileges  they  have  graciously 
permitted  you  to  enjoy,  thereby  causing  a  feeling  of  preju 
dice  against  you.  It  is  but  a  natural  result,  and  that  preju- 

252 


THE  MAYOR'S  TROUBLES 

dice  is  manifested  in  divers  ways.  You  sometimes  are  made 
aware  of  it  by  way  of  large  verdicts  against  you  for  dam 
ages  in  the  damage  suits  brought  against  your  companies.  It 
is  probable  that  some  of  the  large  verdicts  are  just,  and  it 
may  be  that  some  parts  of  the  verdicts  are  the  results  of  the 
general  prejudice  that  exists  among  the  people  against  some 
of  the  public  service  corporations.  If  that  be  true,  may  it 
not  be  the  result  of  your  persistent  refusal  to  do  justice  to 
the  people  with  whom  you  have  entered  into  partnership  by 
accepting  and  enjoying  the  valuable  rights  and  franchises? 
My  impression  is,  that  if  you  fellows  will  always  respect  the 
rights  of  the  people,  the  people  will  treat  you  justly.  But  so 
long  as  you  fail  to  give  the  people  a  square  deal,  you  should 
no^  cry'  if  the  people,  through  their  officers,  sometimes  re 
taliate/' 

"The  people  expect  too  much  of  us.  We  should  be  permit 
ted  to  make  a  fair  return  upon  our  invested  capital." 

"Certainly,  I  grant  you  that  right,  and  the  people  expect 
you  to  make  fair  returns.  They  will  always  be  glad  to 
have  you  make  fair  returns.  I  assure  you  the  people  will 
often  make  sacrifices  for  that  purpose,  if  in  turn  you  will 
exemplify  a  willingness  to  do  justice  toward  them.  But  you 
must  not,  in  exchange  for  the  valuable  privileges  you  enjoy 
at  the  hands  of  the  people,  expect  to  be  the  only  gainer  in 
the  transaction." 

"Our  company  is  willing  to  make  extensions  and  improve 
ments  as  rapidly  as  the  situation  will  warrant,  but  we  do 
not  intend  to  bankrupt  the  concern." 

"How  would  you  like  to  submit  your  books  to  the  scrutiny 
of  a  committee  of  citizens,  or  officers,  so  that  the  condition 
of  your  business  may  be  known?" 

253 


NORKOMA 

"We  take  the  ground  that  our  business  is  our  own  affair, 
and  the  public  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  We  should  be 
opposed  to  such  a  proceeding." 

"Again,  you  overlook  the  fact  that,  inasmuch  as  the  pro 
portion  of  your  capital  stock  which  is  represented  by  the  right 
and  privilege  of  using  the  streets  and  alleys  of  the  city,  be 
longs  to  the  public,  you  and  the  public  are,  therefore,  part 
ners.  One  partner  has  as  much  right  to  know  the  condition 
of  the  business  of  the  concern  as  the  other  partner.  That  is 
the  right  of  partners,  by  all  that  is  fair  and  just  between 
partners;  and,  further,  it  is  the  right  of  a  partner  so  as  to 
know  whether  he  is  getting  a  square  deal.  I  want  to  tell 
you  this,  that  if  the  public  service  corporations  shall  ignore 
the  rights  of  the  people  in  these  matters,  the  people  will 
resort  to  the  enactment  of  such  laws  as  will  make  the  entire 
business  of  every  such  concern  as  open  as  a  public  record, 
so  that  all  people  may  read  as  they  run.  Now,  the  people,  as 
a  rule,  simply  demand  what  is  fair  and  just  to  them,  but  if 
there  is  not  exhibited  a  more  liberal  spirit  of  fairness  by 
you  fellows,  the  people  will  not  fail  to  resort  to  such  methods 
as  will  assure  them  security  in  their  own  rights/' 

"Oh  course,  Mr.  Marchand,  you  understand  that  I  am  not 
the  company.  I  am  simply  the '  local  superintendent  and 
manager,  with  authority  to  do  only  the  things  which  I  am 
directed  to  do  by  the  company.  I  realize  the  truth  of  your 
remarks,  but  I  am  powerless  to  act,  except  under  instructions. 
However,  I  will  take  the  matter  up  with  my  superiors  and 
see  what  can  be  done  about  the  White  Oak  extension.'' 

"Have  you  not  done  that  yet?  Six  months  ago  you  told 
me  you  would  see  what  could  be  done  along  that  line,  and 
after  all  this  waiting  you  now  inform  me  that  you  will  take 

254 


THE  MAYOR'S  TROUBLES 

the  matter  up  with  your  superiors.  You  knew  you  had  that 
to  do  at  the  very  outset,  but  you  have  delayed  until  now. 
That  is  not  fair  to  the  city  administration,  which  has  treat 
ed  you  with  all  due  courtesy.  I  shall  not  submit  to  that 
treatment  any  longer.  I  now  notify  you  that  within  ninety 
days  that  extension  must  be  completed  and  ready  for  opera 
tion,  otherwise  you  will  have  to  deal  with  us  in  a  way  that 
your  company  will  not  fully  appreciate.  This  ends  our  con 
ference,  Mr.  White." 

"I  shall  do  the  best  I  can  with  my  company,  Mr.  Mar- 
chand." 

A  short  time  after  White  left  the  Mayor's  office,  a  delega 
tion  of  citizens  appeared,  complaining  of  the  poor  service  of 
the  telephone  company.  The  delegation  was  composed  of 
business  men.  Mr.  Wharton,  being  the  spokesman,  began : 

"Mayor  Marchand,  we  have  called  upon  you,  as  the  Mayor 
of  our  city,  to  ascertain  if  there  is  not  some  way  of  getting 
better  service  out  of  the  telephone  company.  We  are  pay 
ing  high  rent  for  our  'phones,  and  the  fact  is,  we  get  no 
service  worth  speaking  of." 

"Have  you  complained  to  Mr.  Black,  the  local  manager?" 

"Yes,  we  have  telephoned  to  him  several  times,  but  he  al 
ways  says  that  he  will  do  all  that  is  within  his  power  to  afford 
us  the  best  possible  service.  He  has  been  making  those  same 
promises  for  more  than  a  year,  yet  the  service  grows  no  bet 
ter.  One  of  the  greatest  troubles  seems  to  be  the  careless 
and  neglectful  operators  at  the  exchange.  They  are  'sassy' 
and  inattentive  to  business." 

"Well,  my  friends,  I  have  not  observed  any  great  amount 
of  impoliteness  nor  inattention  among  the  exchange  oper- 

255 


NORKOMA 

ators.  Not  have  I  had  the  least  bit  of  trouble  from  them. 
Suppose  I  try  the  'phone  right  now,  for  example." 

Marchand  picked  up  the  ear  trumpet,  and  without  any 
waiting  there  came  the  question,  "Xumber?"  to  which  Mar 
chand  replied:  "37,  please.'' 

"That  is  a  rare  exception,"  said  one  of  the  delegation.  "I 
am  certain  that  would  never  occur  in  my  store." 

"Nor  in  mine,  nor  mine,  nor  mine,"  almost  chorused  the 
members  of  the  delegation. 

"Well,  gentlemen,  you  are  not  the  first  delegation  to  com 
plain  to  me  in  regard  to  the  poor  service  of  the  telephone 
company.  I  have  had  conference  after  conference  with  the 
manager,  and  he  assures  me  he  is  doing  all  within  his  power 
to  bring  about  a  better  service.  I  find  the  service  is  far  bet 
ter  than  formerly." 

"Yes,  they  are  good  on  promises,  but  they  do  nothing  but 
make  promises,.  They  should  be  forced  to  come  to  time, 
right  from  the  word  go,  and  you  are  just  the  man  to  make 
them  toe  the  mark." 

"In  the  telephone  service  there  is  this  peculiarity,"  said 
Marchand.  "The  exchange  is  not  an  automatic  machine.  We 
have  to  depend  upon  the  services  of  human  operators.  Those 
operators  are,  generally,  women  and  girls.  Those  young  wo 
men  are  mighty  quick  to  detect  a  cross  and  crabbed  voice, 
the  same  as  you  would  be  if  a  person  came  into  your  store  and 
acted  cross  and  ugly.  The  better  way  to  get  good  service 
through  -the  exchange  is  to  speak  gently  and  good  naturedly. 
It  will  not  be  long  until  the  exchange  girls  will  find  it  a 
pleasure  to  serve  you,  and  they  will  serve  you  promptly.  Oth 
erwise  you  may  expect  poor  service." 

"The  management  should  not  retain  employes  who  resort 

256 


THE  MAYOR'S  TROUBLES 

to  the  practice  of  delaying  patrons,  just  because  one  voice 
is  more  pleasant  than  another.  We  business  men  have  no 
time  to  fool  with  silly  exchange  girls." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  gentlemen,  but  let  me  assure  you  that 
a  telephone  girl  is  entitled  to  as  much  respect  and  ladylike 
treatment  over  the  'phone  as  you  gentlemen  demand  for  your 
lady  clerks  at  your  counters.  Human  nature  is  the  same  the 
world  over,  and  so  long  as  the  telephone  is  operated  by  hu 
man  beings,  so  long  will  the  gruff,  irritable  and  unpleasant 
voice  be  superseded  by  the  pleasant,  genial  and  respectful 
mannered  applicant,  whether  the  exchange  operator  be  male 
or  female.  Do  not  misunderstand  me,  however,  for  I  am 
|jot  defending  the  telephone  company.  It  has  many  faults, 
which  must  be  remedied,  and  I  shall  bend  my  every  energy  to 
bring  about  a  better  condition,  but  I  must  have  the  co-opera 
tion  of  the  good  citizens,  lest  I  fail.  I  ask  you  gentlemen 
to  join  me  at  this  time  in  a  conference  with  Mr.  Black,  the 
manager." 

"Oh,  we  have  not  the  time  to  see  him.  We  thought  it 
would  be  sufficient  to  see  you  about  the  matter." 

"There  is  where  you  are  in  error.  My  continual  conferring 
with  the  managers  of  those  concerns  leads  them  to  believe 
that  I  am  simply  meddling  into  their  affairs,  whereas,  if  the 
citizens  would  follow  up  my  work  by  their  own  efforts,  it 
would  be  plain  that  I  am  seeking  simple  justice  only  in  these 
matters.  Why  not  join  me  now,  and  lay  the  matter  plainly 
before  Mr.  Black,  in  person?" 

"Well,  you  see,  we  are  men  of  business,  and  we  can  not 
afford  to  offend  either  Mr.  Black  or  his  employes,  as  it 
would  probably  injure  our  business,  you  know." 

"You  are  willing,  however,  to  unload  the  burden  upon  me. 

257 


NORKO1&A 

I  am  in  business  here,  too.  I  shall  call  Mr.  Black  over  the 
'phone,  and  have  him  here  in  a  few  minutes,  if  you  will 
wait." 

"No,  do  not  call  him,  as  we  are  in  somewhat  of  a  hurry 
and  can  not  wait.  In  talking  the  matter  over  with  him,  you 
need  not  mention  our  names." 

"I  see  no  reason  for  not  telling  the  truth  about  it.  You 
pay  your  'phone  rent,  don't  you?" 

"Certainly,  certainly,  but  the  same  results  may  be  ob 
tained  without  mentioning  names.  We  are  certainly  glad 
you  will  help  us  out  in  this  matter.  Good  day,  Mr.  Mar- 
chand." 

"Good  day,  gentlemen.    Glad  you  called." 

When  the  delegation  of  business  men  had  gone,  Walter 
Marchand  sank  back  into  his  big  office  chair  with  a  feeling  of 
disgust.  He  had  been  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of  appeals  and 
kicks  against  the  various  public  service  concerns,  but  he  had 
never  dealt  with  a  set  of  fellows  who  were  so  willing  to  make 
trouble,  and  so  unwilling  to  father  their  offspring. 

"That  kind  of  business  is  what  makes  it  doubly  hard  upon 
a  public  official,"  mused  Marchand.  "People  will  fre 
quently  try  to  throw  their  burdens  upon  the  officer,  whereas, 
if  they  would  practice  a  little  common  sense,  and  exhibit 
the  courage  of  an  honest  cause,  they  would  have  no  reason 
for  complaint,  at  all.  Eunning  to  the  public  officer,  they 
rage  and  froth  when  the  officer  refuses  to  carry  their  private 
burdens  upon  his  shoulders."  While  Marchand  was  thus 
musing,  he  was  pleased  at  the  appearance  of  Fletcher  and 
Butler  at  his  office  door. 

"Come  in,  gentlemen.  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  come  sooner, 
so  as  to  have  heard  the  complaint  of  some  of  your  friends 

258 


against  the  telephone  company.  Though  I  doubt  if  they 
would  have  made  complaint  in  your  presence.  It  was  really 
amusing." 

'•'Oh,  well,  Marchand,  I  sympathize  with  you.  I  was  once 
Mayor,  you  know,  and  I  know  how  it  is,"  said  Fletcher. 

"Give  the  people  a  chance  to  complain,  for  they  have 
enough  cause,  I  am  sure,"  replied  Walter.  "I  have  discov 
ered  one  thing,  however,  and  that  is,  when  a  fellow  complains 
but  refuses  to  become  identified  with  his  own  complaint, 
there  is  little  use  giving  any  heed  to  him." 

"Walter,  old  fellow,"  said  Butler,  "I  must  congratulate 
you  and  your  administration  upon  the  fact  that  we  are  get 
ting  better  service  out  of  all  the  public  utility  corporations 
than  we  ever  did  before.  There  is  a  marked  change  for  the 
better  in  all  the  departments  of  the  city  govrnment,  too.  In 
fact,  there  is  a  marked  change  in  the  very  appearance  of 
the  entire  city." 

"I  hope  we  shall  have  no  fever  here  this  coming  summer," 
said  Fletcher.  "And  we  will  not  have  if  we  sanitate  the 
city." 

"If  we  can  once  have  the  people  to  understand  that  they 
should  willingly  and  freely  join  in  the  movement  to  clean 
up  the  city  thoroughly,"  said  Walter,  "there  would  be. little 
trouble  in  preventing  fever." 

"When  you  tackle  the  cleaning-up  question,  old  fellow, 
you  will  be  up  against  the  hardest  job  a  Mayor  ever  has  to 
tackle,"  suggested  Fletcher.  "I  tried  that  once,  and  I  made 
more  enemies  at  it  than  I  did  otherwise  in  my  whole  official 
career.  I  simply  had  to  not  only  threaten  the  people  with 
arrest  and  punishment,  but  had  to  actually  arrest  many  of 
them  and  fine  them  before  I  could  get  them  to  turn  a  wheel." 

259 


"If  it  require  the  entire  police  force  of  the  city,  I  am 
determined  that  the  work  of  sanitation  shall  be  accomplished, 
and  accomplished  in  a  thorough  manner,"  said  Marchand. 
"Butler,  you  may  as  well  announce  in  the  papers  that  fact. 
I  do  not  want  anybody  to  misunderstand  what  I  intend  to 
have  done.  We  have  passed  an  ordinance  making  it  an 
offense  for  any  citizen  to  fail  or  refuse  to  thoroughly  clean 
and  sanitate  his  premises  within  twenty-four  hours  after 
receiving  notice  from  the  city  government  so  to  do.  That 
law  will  be  strictly  enforced." 

"You  had  better  never  run  for  another  office,  if  you  en 
force  that  law,"  said  Fletcher. 

"By  thunder,  I  am  not  thinking  about  another  office.  I 
am  simply  going  to  perform  the  duties  devolving  upon  me 
while  I  am  Mayor  of  this  city.  I  can  not  afford  to  allow 
yellow  fever  to  break  out  in  this  town,  just  because  the  people 
don't  like  to  clean  up  their  premises.  Our  city  must  be 
thoroughly  cleaned  up,  and  I  shall  see  that  it  is  done,  regard 
less  of  the  howling  critics,  if  any  there  be." 

"Oh,  you  are  eminently  correct.  That  is  the  only  thing 
to  do,  and  I  trust  you  shall  not  falter  when  the  howl  sets 
in,"  said  Fletcher. 

"I  understand  there  is  considerable  agitation  up  the  coun 
try,  looking  to  the  enactment  by  Congress  of  a  national  quar 
antine  law,"  suggested  Butler.  "I  see  it  is  being  agitated  by 
some  of  the  interior  States." 

"That  is  a  matter  that  must  necessarily  follow  the  ever 
increasing  negligence  and  laggardness  of  the  coast  cities. 
I  do  not  know  that  a  national  quarantine  would  be  any 
better  than  a  state  quarantine,  but  I  do  fear  that  under  the 
national  regulation  our  coast  country  might  be  absolutely 


THE  MAYOR'S  TROUBLES 

ruined,  by  having  our  Gulf  ports  closed  six  months  out 
of  the  year.  It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  the  Atlantic  and 
Pacific  ports,  together  with  the  trans-continental  railroads, 
can  care  for  all  the  export  and  import  business  of  our  coun 
try,  if  necessary.  And  if  there  be  half  as  much  corruption 
in  the  politics  of  this  country  as  there  appears  to  be,  it  would 
not  take  long  to  bring  about  the  closing  of  the  Gulf  ports 
of  trade.  Xeither  can  the  people  of  the  interior  of  our 
country  be  blamed  for  their  uneasiness  about  contagious  dis 
eases.  If  the  Gulf  coast  cities  are  too  indolent,  and  lack 
that  civic  pride  which  alone  should  warrant  them  in  keep 
ing  their  communities  in  thorough  sanitary  condition,  so 
as  to  prevent  the  origination  and  spread  of  contagions,  the 
interior  portions  of  the  country  will  be  warranted  in  resort 
ing  to  such  means  as  will  bring  safety  to  themselves,  whether 
it  result  in  closing  the  Gulf  ports,  or  not." 

"Suppose  you  put  this  matter  straight  before  the  people  in 
the  columns  of  your  papers,  Butler,"  said  Fletcher,  "and  I 
am  of  the  impression  that  the  people  will  awaken  to  the  true 
situation." 

"'I  will  be  glad  to  do  so,  and  I  believe  it  will  have  a  good 
effect." 

"Marchand,  you  have  put  this  subject  before  me  in  a  new 
light.  I  shall  make  it  the  slogan  of  my  campaign  in  my 
race  for  the  Legislature." 

"I  thank  you,  Fletcher,  for  your  kind  assistance.  A  good 
city  government  should  always  be  backed  up  by  capable  and 
efficient  representatives  in  the  State  Legislature.  I  am  glad 
you  are  a  candidate,  for  I  may  now  show  my  appreciation  of 
your  many  acts  of  kindness  toward  me  in  my  struggle  for 
a  better  local  government." 

2G1 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 
BREAKING  THE  TIES. 

"Butler,  for  some  time  I  have  been  wanting  to  have  a  con 
fidential  talk  with  you  about  a  delicate  matter,  and  that  is 
why  I  invited  you  to  come  here,  at  this  time,  where  we  will 
be  neither  overheard  nor  disturbed,"  said  Walter,  one  Sun 
day  morning,  when  Joe  Butler  came  to  Marchand's  private 
law  office,  at  the  request  of  his  friend. 

"All  right,  Walter,  I  am  at  your  service.    Proceed." 

"You  are  not  in  a  hurry,  are  you  ?" 

"No;  no  hurry." 

"Have  a  cigar?  These  are  made  of  Texas-grown  Havana 
tobacco,  and  are  a  present  to  me  from  a  Texas  girl." 

"Oho,  I  see.  Miss  Dorothy  Rathbone  is  Texas  through 
and  through.  She  is  for  Texas  first,  in  everything." 

"I  like  that  spirit  in  a  person,  and  I  think  it  is  more  suit 
able  to  Dorothy  than  any  girl  that  I  know." 

"By  the  way,  you  have  not  taken  that  Texas  trip  your 
heart  is  so  set  upon." 

"No,  but  I  am  going  just  as  soon  as  we  finish  up  this 
work  of  sanitation,  which  will  be  in  about  a  week  from  now." 

"Walter,  I  do  not  usually  speculate  upon  other  people's 
affairs,  but  I'll  bet  a  new  hat  that  I  can  guess  who  Dorothy 
Rathbone's  husband  will  be." 

262 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

"You  don't  base  your  guess  upon  the  gift  of  a  box  of 
cigars,  do  you?" 

"Xever  mind  about  what  I  base  my  guess  upon.  I  con 
gratulate  the  man  who  captures  that  little  prize,  whoever  he 
may  be.  I  was  foolish  enough,  for  a  time,  to  dream  a  few 
dreams,  but  I  soon  awakened  to,  the  knowledge  of  a  fact  cer 
tain,  and  I  quit  dreaming." 

"Why,  Joe,  did  you  fall  in  love  with  Dorothy?" 

"Not  exactly.  But  I  was  mighty  near  to  it.  I  suppose 
conflicting  emotions,  circumstances,  and  a  failure  of  dispo 
sition  on  her  part  was  about  all  that  prevented." 

"What  conflicting  emotions  and  circumstances  prevented, 
pray  ?" 

"Oh,  I  do  not  care  to  mention.  It  was  only  a  temporary 
dream,  and  secondary  to  a  holier,  higher  ambition  of  which 
I  shall  not  now  speak.  Maybe,  later,  I  shall  confide." 

"Well,  Joe,  I  am  frank  to  confess  to  you  that  I  have  been 
thinking  seriously  of  proposing  marriage  to  Dorothy.  What 
suggestion  can  you  make?" 

"I  would  suggest  that  when  you  make  the  proposal,  be  on 
the  ground  in  person,  so  as  to  back  up  the  proposal  with  all 
arguments  that  may  appear  necessary." 

"I  don't  understand  you.  What  arguments  are  there  to 
make?  She  knows  me,  and  if  she  loves  me,  she  will  accept. 
If  not,  why " 

"Yes,  now  you  have  it,  'why — '?  Well,  a  girl  may  have 
other  plans  half  matured,  or  perhaps  wholly  matured.  It 
is  like  trading  horses,  sight  unseen.  One  owner  may  have 
two  or  three  trades  on  the  string,  and  he  might  reject  an 
offer  from  the  fourth  fellow,  for  fear  it  would  not  be  as 
good  a  trade  as  one  of  the  others." 

263 


NORKOMA 

"Ha,  ha,  ha,  Butler.  You  have  a  strange  way  of  putting 
the  matter,  yet  I  can  see  some  philosophy  in  your  theory." 

"If  you  have  never  indicated  to  the  girl  that  you  have 
some  intention  of  marriage,  and  that  your  mind  is  inclined 
toward  Texas,  it  would  be  the  better  plan  to  throw  out  that 
hint  before  you  make  a  cold-blooded  proposition  on  paper. 
Give  her  time  to  readjust  any  affairs  needing  readjustment, 
in  case  she  prefers  you  to  some  other  person.  A  girl  never 
marries  a  man  she  doesn't  love,  except  for  cause,  but  she  would 
break  a  hundred  engagements  to  marry  the  man  of  her 
choice/' 

"I  have  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  young  lady  loves 
me,  so  I  do  not  see  where  your  theory  can  benefit  me,  should 
I  conclude  to  carry  out  the  half  intention." 

"By  being  right  on  the  spot  to  argue  and  press  your  claims. 
If  you  make  no  better  lover  than  you  do  a  politician,  your 
chances  to  win  Dorothy  Eathbone  are  mighty  slim,  provided 
some  other  fellow  is  in  the  race.  Brace  up,  old  fellow." 

"Be  careful,  Joe,  I  fear  you  will  have  another  case  of 
snakes.  Ha,  ha!" 

"See  here,  Walter,  you  were  to  let  up  on  the  snake  story.' 
"But  you  never  gave  me  that  birthday  present." 
"That  is  true,  but  you  never  told  me  when  your  birthday 
came  around.    You  are  at  fault." 

"Say,  Butler,  is  it  not  strange  that  our  family  record  does 
not  disclose  the  date  of  my  birth?  I  have  lately  been  puz 
zled  about  it,  but  being  so  very  busy  with  my  duties,  have 
had  no  time  to  look  into  the  matter.  I'll  do  that,  however, 
immediately  upon  my  return  from  Texas." 

"Your  father  should  be  able  to  explain  the  family  record, 

264 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

I  think.  But  I  presume  those  things  often  occur,  so  it  is 
nothing  to  be  worried  about." 

"Oh,  no,  I  reckon  not.  I  have  spoken  to  you  before  about 
the  strange  condition  existing  between  sister  Edith  and  my 
self.  We  have  been  more  like  sweethearts  than  brother  and 
sister.  It  has  long  been  a  puzzle  to  me.  On  that  account,  I 
suppose,  I  never  before  felt  a  desire  to  marry.  But  of  late 
I  see  that  both  she  and  I  have  made  a  serious  mistake.  I 
dread  to  think  of  marrying  while  dear  little  Edith  is  single, 
for  I  know  she  has  had  hundreds  of  opportunities  which  she 
permitted  to  pass  by,  just  because  our  lives  were  so  mutually 
pleasant  and  happy. 

"If  Edith  knew  that  your  intentions  are  to  marry,  she 
would,  perhaps,  shape  her  course  differently.  Do  you  not 
think  so?" 

"Perhaps  so,  but  would  the  opportunity  ever  come  to  marry 
the  man  she  could  love,  and  who  would  prove  a  good  husband 
to  her?  That  is  the  question  that  disturbs  me." 

"Of  course,  that  is  an  open  question,  and  the  future  alone 
can  solve  it.  She  would  never  marry  a  man  she  did  not 
love,  I  am  thinking." 

"That  is  a  certainty.  I  know  that  little  woman  too  well 
to  ever  think  otherwise.  Whoever  gains  her  consent  to  mar 
riage  may  rest  assured  that  he  has  the  love  and  esteem  of 
one  of  the  best  girls  that  ever  lived." 

"Ah,  well,"  sighed  Butler,  "if  I  could  but  hope  to  be  that 
man,  my  life  would  be  happy,  even  in  the  hope." 

"Butler,  you  and  I  have  been  the  best  of  friends  since  our 
college  days.  I  know  you  to  be  a  man  who  is  worthy  the 
love,  respect  and  esteem  of  any  woman.  I  told  my  mother 
some  time  ago  that  if  Edith  would  be  so  fortunate  as  to  marry 

265 


NORKOMA 

as  good  a  man  as  you,  I  would  be  happy,  and  mother  indorsed 
those  remarks." 

"Walter,  my  dear,  good  friend,"  said  Butler,  as  he  grasped 
the  hand  of  Marchand,  "I  thank  God  for  those  kind  words 
from  you,  and  if  I  but  knew  that  Edith  felt  kindly  toward 
me,  I  would  be  the  happiest  man  in  the  world." 

Perhaps  she  does.  In  fact,  I  know  she  likes  you  above 
all  of  her  gentlemen  acquaintances.  Further  than  that,  I 
know  nothing.  I  assure  you  that  any  word  that  I  can  say, 
if  you  wish  it,  will  be  said  in  your  behalf." 

"Walter,  again  I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart.  Oh,  I 
shall  not  dare  to  hope  for  such  good  fortune;  it  will  set 
my  brain  on  fire." 

"No,  Butler,  do  not  build  up  too  strong  a  hope,  unless 
you  are  right  on  the  ground.  It  is  like  trading  horses,  you 
know." 

"Please  don't  mention  a  horse  trade  in  the  same  breath; 
it  is  an  awfully  serious  matter  with  me." 

"You  have  not  forgotten  your  horse  trade  in  my  case,  have 
you?  I  was  only  evening  up  with  you.  My  case  is  serious, 
too." 

"Is  it?    All  right,  I  forgive  you." 

"Hello,  some  one  is  unlocking  the  front  office  door.  I'll 
see  who  it  can  be." 

Walter  went  into  the  front  office,  and  after  a  few  moments 
returned  with  several  letters  in  his  hand,  saying:  "It  was 
Mr.  Walton.  He  always  goes  to  the  postoffice  on  Sundays 
for  our  mail.  Pardon  me  for  perusing  the  letters  hastily, 
will  you  ?" 

"Certainly,  certainly.  I'll  try  another  one  of  Miss  Doro 
thy's  Texas  cigars,  and  read  The  Daily  Telegram  while  you 

266 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

are  engaged  with,  your  mail.  I  see  you  have  a  tinted  en 
velope  with  a  waxen  seal,  so  I  promise  to  become  thoroughly 
absorbed  until  you  arouse  me." 

"Here's  a  letter  from  the  old  Captain's  lawyers,  and  they 
are  willing  to  settle  the  case  of  your  'Prince  of  Pearls'  on 
the  basis  proposed.  They  say  they  shall  expect  a  settlement 
by  Tuesday.  How  is  that?  I  am  mighty  glad,  for  with  that 
case  settled,  I  shall  be  practically  free  from  worry  about 
court  matters  during  my  Texas  visit." 

"I  am  also  glad  they  have  accepted  our  proposition  of  set 
tlement,  for  several  times  I  feared  the  old  man  was  about 
to  die.  He  is  now  recovering  rapidly  from  his  long  spell 
of  fever,  however,  and  is  able  to  talk  plainly  and  make  his 
wants  known.  Of  course,  he  is  not  permitted  to  talk  much, 
though  he  seems  anxious  to  do  so.  He  apparently  has  some 
great  secret  upon  his  mind,  but  I  have  cautioned  him  against 
saying  anything  about  it  to  any  one  but  myself,  and  he 
seems  to  recognize  the  importance  of  prudence  and  caution. 
He  will  be  delighted  to  leam  of  the  settlement  of  his  case, ' 
I  am  sure/' 

'"Have  you  any  idea  of  the  value  of  those  jewels,  Butler?" 

"Not  definite.  I  had  Mr.  Wilton,  the  jeweler,  and  Mr. 
Joseph,  his  lapidist,  examine  them,  and  they  roughly  esti 
mated  their  value  at  one  hundred  thousand  dollars.  You 
know  he  has,  besides,  quite  a  large  collection  of  the  most  val 
uable  pearls  in  the  leather  belt  which  he  wears  around  his 
body.  I  have  disposed  of  some  of  those  for  expense  money, 
and  the  lowest  price  for  which  I  sold  a  single  one  of  them 
was  three  hundred  dollars.  I  presume,  that  after  his  legal 
matters  are  settled,  his  estate  will  be  worth  one  hundred  thou 
sand  dollars." 

267 


NORKOMA 

"Has  the  old  fellow  any  relatives,  or  have  you  ascer 
tained  ?" 

"I  have  not.  While  delirious  from  the  effect  of  his  fever, 
he  would  frequently  talk,  but  the  only  words  I  could  under 
stand  were,  'boy,  my  boy.'  Since  his  fever  has  gone,  I  have 
not  permitted  him  to  talk.  Before  many  days,  however,  he 
will  be  strong  enough  to  tell  his  story.  I  would  not  be  sur 
prised  if  he  should  tell  a  story  worth  publishing." 

"I  shall  be  interested,  and,  if  I  am  then  in  Texas  and  you 
publish  an  account  of  it,  send  me  a  copy,  will  you?'* 

"To  be  sure.  Dorothy  gets  The  Daily  Telegram  right 
along.  She  sent  in  her  subscription,  and  I  returned  it,  stat 
ing  that  the  paper  was  being  sent  her  as  the  compliments  of 
the  Mayor  of  this  city." 

"You  did?  You're  a  wonder,  Joe  Butler.  I  did  not  think 
that  of  you." 

"Pshaw !  I  knew  you  loved  that  girl  all  the  time,  and,  if 
I'd  had  a  real  good  opportunity,  I  would  have  courted  her 
for  and  on  your  account.  Don't  let  me  disturb  you  longer, 
you  are  anxious,  I  know,  to  read  the  letter  in  that  tinted 
envelope  with  a  waxen  seal,  so  go  ahead." 

When  Walter  had  finished  reading  his  letters,  he  arose 
in  a  quiet  manner  and  walked  back  and  forth  through  the 
room,  his  hands  set  deep  in  his  trousers  pockets,  his  head 
bowed,  and  with  an  expression  of  countenance  betokening 
serious  thought,  all  of  which  was  observed  by  Butler  from 
behind  the  corner  of  the  paper  in  which  he  was  supposed  to 
be  wholly  absorbed.  Butler  suddenly  dropped  his  paper,  and 
looking  straight  at  Marchand,  said: 

"Well?"  which  arrested  the  dreamer's  attention,  and  to 
which  he  replied,  in  mockery: 

268 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

"Well?" 

"Is  it  so  serious  as  all  that?"  inquired  Butler. 

"Why,  was  I  so  serious?  1  was  simply  wishing  that  this 
work  of  sanitation  was  over  with,  for  then  I  would  go  to 
Texas,  at  once.  That  is  all.  Serious  ?  No,  but  I  am  getting 
anxious." 

"That  is  a  mighty  good  sign  that  you  are  interested  more 
in  seeing  some  person  in  Texas  than  you  are  in  simply  seeing 
the  country." 

"You  are  right,  old  fellow,  and  I  intend  to  go,  just  about 
a  week  from  today.  I  shall  talk  it  all  over  with  sister,  and 
lay  my  plans  fully  before  her." 

"I  think  you  are  taking  the  wiser  course.  I  mn=t  be  going, 
Walter,  it  is  nearly  the  noon  hour,  and  I  was  to  meet  Fletcher 
at  eleven  o'clock.  I'll  see  you  tomorrow,  so  good  day." 

"Hold  on — not  so  fast,  please.  Miss  Landon  from  up  the 
state  is  visiting  at  our  house,  and  I  arranged  for  you  to  go 
driving  with  us  at  half  past  three,  this  afternoon.  Be  sure 
to  be  on  hand." 

"All  right.     So  long." 

"That  man  Butler  is  a  noble  fellow,"  mused  Walter,  when 
he  was  alone,  "and  I  hope  he  will  find  favor  with  Edith, 
bless  the  dear,  sweet  girl.  It  would  be  mighty  mean  in  me 
to  go  away  and  get  married,  leaving  my  dear  little  sister 
with  no  companion,  no  one  to  love  and  cherish.  I  just  can 
not  do  it.  By  jove,  I  must  go  home,  the  folks  will  be  waiting 
for  me." 

There  had  been  no  break  of  confidence  between  brother 
and  sister,  except  for  the  lack  of  opportunity.  The  pre 
vious  winter  season  had  been  well  filled  with  visitors,  and 
the  summer  and  early  fall  were  occupied  by  vacations,  out- 

269 


NORKOMA 

ings,  and  what  not,  for  those  of  "The  Cedars'"  who  were 
not  required,  per  force  of  public  life,  to  remain  at  their  post 
of  duty,  so  that  Walter  and  Edith  were  not  afforded  the  op 
portunity  of  each  other's  company  and  companionship,  as 
formerly.  However,  their  strange  attachment  for  each  other 
had  not  lessened  one  whit,  and  seeing  more  of  others  made 
the  strangeness  of  their  situation  appear  more  strange  to 
each  of  them.  A  few  days  prior  to  Walter's  departure  for 
Texas,  an  opportunity  was  afforded  the  brother  and  sister 
for  an  uninterrupted  and  confidential  conference.  Walter, 
as  usual,  was  seated  in  the  old  rustic  out  in  the  grounds, 
at  an  early  morning  hour,  scanning  the  daily  paper,  when 
Edith  came  tripping  out  to  him. 

"I  think  you  are  awfully  selfish,  brother,  to  come  away  out 
here  by  yourself  every  morning,"  said  Edith. 

"It  is  about  the  only  opportunity  I  have  of  reading  The 
Daily  Telegram.  Do  you  know  that  fellow  Butler  has  made 
the  Telegram  the  best  paper  in  the  state?  He  is  a  wonder, 
that  man." 

"How  so,  brother?" 

"Well,  in  almost  any  way  one  may  take  him.  He  is  full 
of  energy,  always  hard  at  work,  and  makes  a  success  of 
everything  he  undertakes.  I  declare,  it  is  marvelous." 

"Well,  a  man  who  works  as  zealously  as  he,  deserves  suc 
cess.  Don't  you  think  so?" 

"Certainly.  But  why  does  he  do  it?  He  has  no  wife,  no 
children,  no  one  to  love  or  care  for,  and  none  but  his  friends 
to  love  him." 

"Perhaps  he  intends,  some  day,  to  have  a  family." 

"No  doubt.  If  I  were  a  woman,  I  would  envy  the  girl 
who  becomes  his  wife." 

270 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

"Why,  brother?" 

"Because  he  is  so  gentle  and  kind  by  nature.  He  is  so 
noble  of  heart,  so  pure  of  mind,  that  he  will  make  his  wife, 
whoever  she  be,  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world,  if  she 
love  him  at  all." 

"I  have  often  thought  that,  if  I  were  to  ever  marry,  T 
would  prefer  a  husband  just  like  you  or  Mr.  Butler." 

"And  I  have  often  thought  if  I  were  to  ever  marry,  I'd 
prefer  a  wife  just  like  you,  or  - 

"Oh,  I  know  a  girl  who,  mother  says,  is  my  duplicate," 
interjected  Edith. 

"Pray,  who  may  she  he?" 

"Oh, .  Walter  Marchand,  you  can  not  play  that  smoothly 
enough.  Well,  she  writes  a  nice,  bold  hand,  uses  tinted  paper, 
and  lives  in  Texas.  There,  now!" 

"Oh,  yes,  you  mean  Dorothy?" 

"Certainly.  You  knew  whom  I  meant.  Mother  says  you 
like  Dorothy  a  great  deal.  I  am  glad,  if  you  do,  for  she  is 
a  good  girl,  and  we  have  been  such  dear  friends." 

"Dear,  little  sister,  I  am  going  to  confide  in  you  fully. 
We  have  been  such  loving  friends  and  companions  ever  since 
we  were  children,  that  I  dread  to  think  of  the  future.  But 
the  future  is  before  us  and  we  must  face  it.  Now,  dear, 
please  do  not  cry.  I  know  it  breaks  your  heart,  and  it  breaks 
mine  also.  Please,  darling,  don't." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  good  brother,  I  know  we  must  part.  Mother 
has  told  me  several  times  that  it  must  come  to  this,  but  oh, 
how  happy  all  those  years  have  been.  I  wish  they  could 
continue  forever." 

"We  might  have  known,  and  had  we  not  loved  each  other 

271 


NORKOMA 

so,  we  would  have  known  that  we  should  not  thus  continue 
indefinitely." 

"Oh,  brother,  how  we  talked  of  our  future  when  we  were 
children.  How  proud  1  was  in  my  love  for  you,  and  that  love- 
is  stronger  today  than  ever,  since  I  must  lose  you.  But  I 
will  not  stand  in  your  way,  dear.  I  will  not  cling  to  you 
so  as  to  darken  your  life  and  make  you  miserable." 

"Please,  darling  Edith,  do  not  say  those  words,  for  they 
burn  into  my  very  soul.  You  do  not  know,  except  from  your 
own  heart-pangs,  how  much  I  love  you,  and  how  I  have 
always  loved  you.  0,  darling  sister,  that  love  will  linger 
within  my  soul  unto  my  expiring  breath  and  will  fly  with 
my  spirit  to  its  eternal  home.  I  may  cherish  another,  but 
to  love  as  I  have  always  loved  you,  is  beyond  all  possibility. 
Please,  dear,  don't  cry.  Listen  to  me,  little  sweetheart,  for 
I  want  to  tell  you  what  I  think  is  best  for  both  of  us.  If 
we  each  shall  find  a  person  whom  we  may  cherish  and  re 
spect,  it  would  be  better  that  we  take  our  separate  ways. 
But  we  will  always  be  sweethearts,  for  since  we  are  brother 
and  sister,  we  may  love  eternally." 

"It  is  easy  for  a  man  to  say  that,  but  you  know  a  woman 
can  not  make  her  own  selection,  nor  love  more  than  one  at 
a  time." 

"No,  sweetheart,  I  know  that,  but  if  you  ever  see  a  man 
whom  you  think  you  could  like,  if  you  will  confide  in  me, 
maybe  we  can  manage  it." 

"Please,  Walter,  do  not  speak  of  so  holy  a  thing  in  such 
fashion." 

"Why,  little  angel,  I  meant  no  harm.  I  only  wanted  to 
check  those  crystal  drops  upon  your  pretty  cheeks  by  lead- 

272 


BREAKING  THE  TIES 

ing  your  mind  from  our  sorrow.  That  was  all.  But,  say, 
sister,  what  think  you  of  my  suggestion?" 

Oh,  brother,  let  me  have  time  to  think.  But  I  know  it  will 
be  best,  for  I  have  talked  it  all  over  with  mother.  She 
thinks  Mr.  Butler  rather  likes  me.  Do  you  think  he  does?" 

"Do  you  like  Mr.  Butler,  Edith  ?" 

"You  answer  my  question  first." 

"I  will,  if  you  promise  to  answer  my  question  next.  Will 
you?" 

"I  promise." 

"Yes,  I  think  Joe  Butler  not  only  likes  you,  but  thinks  a 
great  deal  of  you.  Now,  your  answer. 

"I  like  Mr.  Butler,  of  course.  Who  could  help  liking  and 
respecting-  him  ?" 

"I  am,  indeed,  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  for  now  I  will 
tell  you,  I  know  he  loves  you  with  his  whole  soul." 

"How  do  you  know,  brother?" 

"Because,   I   overheard  him   talking  to   himself." 

"Eavesdropping  ?" 

"No,  but  when  I  heard  him  mention  your  name,  I  could 
not  refrain  from  listening." 

"What  did  he  say,  please?" 

"Now,  sister  dear,  I  have  said  too  much  already.  Perhaps 
I  should  have  remained  silent." 

"No,  you  should  not.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  Mr.  But 
ler  thinks  well  of  me,  since  I  must  lose  you.  Oh,  Walter, 
I  can  not  bear  to  think  of  losing  you." 

"Now,  darling  sister,  do  not  think  of  it.  You  will  not 
lose  me.  It  is  wrong,  really,  it  is  a  sin  for  us  to  go  on  in 
the  same  way,  indefinitely.  We  are  committing  a  crime 
against  ourselves.  Now,  let  us  both  be  strong,  and  resolve 

273 


NORKOMA 

to  find  happiness  in  a  married  life,  where  we  may  be  sur 
rounded  with  loved  ones.  Shall  it  be  so,  dear  Edith?" 

"Yes,  brother,  it  shall  be  so.  Henceforth,  I  will  teach  you 
how  to  be  strong,  if  I  am  your  little  sister.  Now,  you  have 
my  full  consent,  if  you  marry  the  girl  I  shall  name.  Will 
you?" 

"I  will,  depending  upon  two  conditions." 

"Name  them." 

"One  is,  provided  she  will  have  me,  and  the  other  is,  pro 
vided  you  shall  marry  the  person  I  shall  name.  Will  you?" 

"I  will,  under  those  same  conditions.'' 

"Very  well,  name  the  girl." 

"I  name  Dorothy  Kathbone." 

"I  could  not  have  been  better  pleased.  Now,  brace  up, 
little  sister,  and  let  me  name  your  husband,  to  be.  Are 
you  ready?" 

"I  am  ready,  fire  ahead." 

"I  shall  name  Mr.  Joseph  Butler,  my  dearest  and  best 
friend." 

"I  am  satisfied,  if  it  so  please  God." 

"Well,  I  know  Butler  will  be  pleased,  whether — " 

"Don't,  brother,  it  is  too  sacred." 


274 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
FORMING  NEW  TIES. 

When  suit  was  instituted  in  the  courts  for  the  possession 
of  the  valuable  pearls  comprising  the  estate  of  the  strange 
old  man,  it  was  necessary  to  employ  some  name  by  which 
the  plaintiff  should  be  known  in  the  law.  The  strange  old 
man  could  neither  speak  nor  write  any  language  by  which 
he  could  make  known  his  name,  if,  indeed,  he  knew,  conse 
quently  the  name,  John  Hayes,  was  adopted  for  the  pur 
pose.  Thereafter,  the  strange  old  gentleman  was  generally 
designated  by  that  name,  except  upon  occasions,  when  he 
was  jocularly  referred  to  as  the  "Prince  of  Pearls."  Being 
wholly  incapacitated  for  the  transaction  of  any  business,  or 
to  care  for  his  own  property,  LeBerte  Marchand  was,  by 
the  court,  appointed  the  guardian  of  his  person  and  estate. 
Court  matters  dragged  along  in  their  usual  dilatory  way, 
until  now  the  litigation  had  ended,  and  John  Hayes  wa? 
rapidly  recovering  his  former  condition  of  mind  and  intelli 
gence,  so  that  there  appeared  little  necessity  for  the  con 
tinuation  of  the  guardianship. 

Butler  had  frequently  consulted  with  the  legal  guardian, 
and  it  was  understood  that  Marchand  should  be  relieved 
of  the  burden  and  responsibility  of  the  position  at  an  early 
date.  It  was  realized  that  in  the  event  of  Marchand's  sud' 

275 


NORKOMA 

den  death,  an  event  not  beyond  possibility,  there  might  some 
complication  arise  that  would  possibly  entangle  or  involve 
his  own  estate,  or  that  of  his  family.  Joe  Butler  was  aware 
of  LeBerte  Marchand's  anxiety  in  the  matter,  and  so  in 
formed  the  son,  whereupon  it  was  agreed  that  the  matter 
of  the  guardianship  should  be  closed,  the  guardian  fully 
released,  before  Walter's  departure  for  Texas,  and  the  same 
was  accordingly  done. 

When  LeBerte  Marchand  was  informed  by  Butler  that 
the  matter  of  the  guardianship  had  been  closed,  the  final 
report  approved  by  the  court,  and  the  guardian  and  his  bonds 
men  fully  discharged  and  released  of  all  further  responsibil 
ity,  he  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  and  thanked  Butler  for  his 
friendly  services  in  the  matter. 

"Now,  my  friend  Butler,"  said  LeBerte  Marchand,  "you 
are  deserving  of  a  handsome  reward  for  your  services  and 
your  conduct  of  this  whole  matter.  I  have  had  full  and  im 
plicit  confidence  in  your  integrity  and  ability,  throughout 
the  proceedings.  You  have  the  respect,  esteem  and  love  of 
my  entire  household.  You  are  entitled  to  more  than  that  as 
compensation  for  the  noble  and  unselfish  sacrifices  you  have 
made  in  behalf  of  my  firm,  and  of  my  son  in  particular.  I 
therefore  beg  of  you  to  accept  this  check  from  me  as  a  part 
only,  of  the  compensation  to  which  you  are  justly  entitled." 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Marchand,"  said  Butler,  "my 
poor  services  were  not  rendered  with  a  view  to  compensation. 
My  honesty  and  integrity  have  no  price.  What  I  have  done 
for  the  poor  old  fellow  Hayes,  I  assure  you,  was  done  in 
the  cause  of  justice  and  humanity.  If  what  I  have  done 
in  my  career  in  this  city  has  benefited  you  or  your  family, 
I  shall  feel  well  compensated  in  the  knowledge  of  that  fact, 

276 


FORMING  NEiW  TIES 

and  could  not  be  induced  to  accept  a  monetary  consideration. 
I  thank  you  for  the  words  you  have  spoken,  and  I  assure  you 
they  are  worth  more  than  gold." 

"Butler,  you  are  a  noble  fellow.  I  shall  always  hold  you 
as  one  of  my  best  friends.  We  would  all  be  pleased  to  see 
you  more  frequently  at  'The  Cedars.' ': 

"And  nothing  would  afford  me  more  pleasure,  I  assure 
you,  Mr.  Marchand,  but  you  know  how  my  time  is  occupied 
with  business  matters.  There  is  also  another  barrier,  and 
I  feel  that  I  should  mention  it  to  you.  I  fear  to  permit 
myself  too  much  in  the  very  agreeable  and  charming  society 
of  Miss  Edith." 

"Why  so,  Butler.     Edith  will  not  eat  you,  I  am  sure." 

"Certainly,  but  I  can  not  withstand  the  power  of  her 
personal  charms.  The  truth  is,  that  I  am  already  in  love 
with  her,  deeply  in  love." 

"I  am  real  glad  to  hear  you  say  so.  Knowing  that  fact, 
I  now  more  earnestly  press  you  to  let  us  see  you  more  fre 
quently  in  our  home." 

"I  thank  you  for  the  generous  expression.  Did  I  dare  to 
hope  that  my  love  for  your  daughter  was  reciprocated,  I 
should  beg  your  consent  that  I  might  prosper  my  ambition." 

"Friend  Butler,  you  have  my  full  consent.  I  should  be 
proud  of  you  as  my  son,  and  let  me  hope  that  your  ambition 
may  prosper." 

"I  am  indeed  grateful  for  your  goodness  to  me.  I  have 
never  intimated  to  your  daughter  the  fact  that  I  love  her, 
and  would  have  never  done  so  without  her  father's  full  con 
sent.  Xow,  that  you  have  granted  it,  I  am  very  happy,  in 
deed." 

277 


NORKOMA 

"By  the  way,  Butler,  what  have  you  done  with  the  old 
man  Hayes?  What  are  his  future  plans?" 

"He  is  still  at  the  infirmary  and  will  remain  for  a  few 
weeks  longer.  I  do  not  know,  fully,  his  future  plans.  He 
will,  no  doubt,  begin  to  search  for  his  family,  when  his  full 
strength  returns." 

"What  family  has  he;  do  you  know?" 

"Keally,  I  have  not  questioned  him  about  his  past  life,  nor 
have  I  as  yet  permitted  him  to  tell  his  story.  I  intend  to 
have  him  give  me  a  detailed  statement,  ere  long,  of  his  career. 
I  think  he  has  an  interesting  past,  and  I  shall  be  anxious  to 
hear  it." 

"Has  he  ever  told  you  how  he  came  into  the  possession  of 
that  brass  army  button?" 

"If  I  remember  correctly,  I  think  he  indicated  that  he  had 
been  a  soldier." 

"On  which  side?" 

"The  Federal  side,  I  believe.  But  I  paid  little  attention 
to  his  mutterings,  as  I  preferred  to  await  his  full  recovery. 
He  has  constantly  talked  about  his  boy,  though  so  indis 
tinctly,  and  I  paid  so  little  heed  to  it,  that  I  only  caught 
the  idea  that  he  had  a  son,  and  was  anxious  to  find  him." 

"Did  he  mention  the  name?" 

"No,  not  that  I  know  of.  When  he  subscribed  the  court 
papers  in  the  closing  of  the  guardianship  matters,  of  course, 
he  was  required  to  subscribe  the  name  of  John  Hayes.  He 
hesitated  before  signing,  and  looked  at  me  in  a  puzzled  man 
ner.  I  explained  the  situation  to  him,  and  he  then  signed  the 
papers,  but  said  he  was  not  signing  his  own  name.  I  asked 
him  if  he  remembered  his  own  name.  He  shook  his  head, 
indicating  that  he  was  in  doubt." 

278 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 

"I  want  to  request  of  you,  Mr.  Butler,  that  when  you 
learn  the  man's  past  history  that  you  give  me  an  outline 
of  it  before  you  make  it  public.  I  shall  not  now  give  my 
reasons,  but  in  asking  this  of  you,  I  may  be  doing  you  the 
greatest  favor  you  could  possibly  ask." 

"I  shall  be  glad  to  make  known  to  you  the  details  of  the 
man's  past  life  at  the  earliest  moment,  keeping  the  same 
secret  from  the  public,  as  you  request." 

"Again,  I  thank  you,  friend  Butler,  and  with  the  hope 
that  I  may  sometime  call  you  my  son,  I  bid  you  God  speed." 

"I  shall  never  be  able  to  repay  you  for  all  your  good 
ness  to  me.  And  now,  I  shall  leave  you.  Good  day." 

When  Butler  had  gone,  LeBerte  Marchand  sank  slowly 
back  in  his  big  easy  chair,  to  think  and  muse.  He  had 
not  frequented  his  office  of  late  on  account  of  a  feebleness 
which  had  crept  rapidly  upon  him  during  the  last  few  years, 
and  when  he  did  go  to  the  office  he  preferred  the  quietude 
and  comfort  of  his  private  room  and  the  large  lounging 
chair. 

"I  do  not  in  the  least  suspect  that  this  man  John  Haye& 
is  the  former  husband  of  my-  wife,"  mused  Marchand,  "but 
there  can  be  no  harm  done  by  keeping  a  vigilant  outlook  for 
possibilities.  One  can  never  tell  what  will  happen.  Every 
year  since  the  close  of  the  Civil  war,  I  have  heard  of  one 
or  more  strange  incidents  regarding  the  reappearance  of 
long  lost  husbands,  sons  and  others.  It  is  not  beyond  the 
bounds  of  possibility  that  the  first  husband  should  turn 
up,  'though  it  is  wholly  improbable. 

"And  I  have  been  the  legal  guardian  of  this  strange  old 
man.  Would  it  not  be  a  striking  coincident  if  he  were  my 
wife's  first  husband?  Oh,  well,  there  is  no  danger  of  that, 

279 


NORKOMA 

I  am  sure.  But  what  if  he  should  prove  to  be  the  father 
of  Walter?  Well,  I  could  deny  that  claim,  for  Walter  re 
members  nothing  beyond  the  date  of  his  entering  my  home. 
None  of  my  family  even  suspect  that  Walter  is  not  my  son, 
and  the  neighbors  have  always  been  in  ignorance  of  the  facts. 
No,  I  need  not  fear  along  that  line.  The  only  possibility 
I  need  provide  against  is  the  possibility  of  my  wife's  first 
husband  reappearing.  I  can  not  see  how  she  should  ever 
be  discovered,  situated  in  my  home  as  my  wife.  No  one 
here,  except  my  own  immediate  family,  is  acquainted  with 
her  life-story,  and  I  am  sure  my  family  has  never  made  the 
facts  known.  Why,  they  even  do  not  know  that  Walter  is 
not  my  son.  I  have  kept  that  secret  froru  my  family  and 
from  the  world.  It  is  sacred  from  all,  save  and  except  as 
it  might  be  learned  from  the  statement  in  my  iron  safe  at 
home.  No  one  can  ever  know  that  secret  until  my  lips  are 
sealed  in  death,  or  until  I  shall  believe  it  for  the  best  to 
divulge  it.  If  Edith  were  to  marry  Butler,  I  feel  confident 
that  Walter  would  soon  find  a  life-companion.  In  that 
event,  I  could  see  no  great  harm  in  letting  each  of  them 
know  the  truth,  for  then  the  world  need  never  discover  the 
fact  that  Walter  and  Edith  were  not  brother  and  sister.  If 
my  son  and  daughter  knew  the  truth,  I  fear  no  power  on 
earth  would  prevent  their  becoming  man  and  wife.  Yet,  if 
they  otherwise  marry,  they  will  be  happier,  the  status  of  my 
family  will  not  be  disturbed,  and  I  shall  go  to  my  grave  in 
peace  and  quiet,  bearing  the  respect  of  all  who  know  me.  Oh, 
well,  there  is  no  use  borrowing  trouble.  Everything  is  work 
ing  along  finely,  now  that  Butler  is  in  love  with  Edith,  and 
Walter  is  likely  to  fall  in  love  with  that  little  Texas  sprite. 
My,  but  she  is  a  bright  little  gem,  is  that  •  Dorothy.  I  would 

280 


dearly  love  to  have  Walter  become  her  husband.  She  is  just 
the  kind  of  a  woman  that  has  been  the  making  of  governors, 
and  even  presidents.  I  hope  for  the  best,  anyhow." 

Marchand's  reverie  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  his 
son. 

"I  have  come  to  you,  father,"  said  Walter,  "for  a  confer 
ence  and  advice  on  certain  matters  about  which  you  are,  no 
doubt,  better  able  to  judge  than  am  I," 

"What's  wrong  now,  Walter?  Something  out  of  gear  in 
the  political  machinery  of  the  city?" 

"Not  exactly,  though  there  is  considerable  trouble  in  hav 
ing  the  citizens  clean  up  and  sanitate  their  premises.  I've 
had  to  cause  the  arrest  of  several  persons  for  their  refusal 
to  obey  the  law  in  regard  to  sanitation.  I  have  also  had  a 
warrant  issued  for  the  arrest  of  Paul  Jones,  who  is  one  of 
your  good  friends.  He  absolutely  refuses  to  obey  the  law, 
and  declares  he  will  not  be  forced  to  clean  up  his  premises." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Walter?" 

"Have  him  arrested  and  put  in  jail,  unless  he  cleans  up  his 
premises  as  required  by  the  city  ordinance." 

"That  kind  of  treatment  will  appear  a  little  harsh  to  a 
good  citizen,  will  it  not?" 

"He  knows  the  law,  and  he  knows  that  all  of  his  neigh 
bors  have  done  their  duty.  He  refuses,  claiming  that  he 
has  a  right  to  use  his  property  as  he  sees  fit.  It  is  not  fair 
to  all  other  good  citizens  to  allow  any  one  man,  or  any 
number  of  men,  to  keep  their  property  in  a  condition  that 
may  invite  or  breed  epidemic.  I  have  instructed  the  officers 
to  arrest  Mr.  Jones  unless  he  forthwith  sanitates  his  prem 
ises." 

"That  will  make  a  bitter  enemy  for  you,  if  he  be  ar- 

281 


NORKOMA 

rested.     I  do  not  see  that  you  can  do  otherwise,  however." 

"I  presume  an  officer  is  often  called  upon  to  make  ene 
mies  in  the  faithful  discharge  of  his  public  duty.  I  shall 
be  criticised  by  all  good  citizens  if  I  fail  to  carry  out  my 
work  strictly.  I  will  not  falter,  if  I  be  required  to  arrest 
even  you,  should  you  refuse  to  do  your  duty." 

"You  are  right,  Walter.  There  is  no  other  course  for  you 
to  pursue.  You  may  be  criticised  now,  but  should  you  fail 
to  use  every  facility  within  your  power  to  rid  the  city  of  its 
filth  and  put  it  in  good  condition,  you  would  later  be 
condemned  in  stronger  terms." 

"I  anticipate  little  further  trouble  in  this  work.  Jones 
is  the  only  man  of  any  prominence  who  has  acted  ugly  about 
the  matter,  and  his  neighbors  are  openly  criticising  him. 
The  people,  generally,  are  aware  of  the  necessity  and  are 
showing  the  right  spirit/' 

"My  observation  has  been  that  the  people  take  an  intelli 
gent  interest  in  matters  of  public  welfare  when  they  have 
confidence  in  the  officers  at  the  helm.  If  they  lack  this 
confidence,  they  take  little  interest." 

"I  have  about  concluded  that  when  my  term  of  office  ex 
pires,  I  shall  retire  from  public  life.  That  is,  I  shall  not 
hold  any  other  public  office.  Public  office  to  me,  is  nag 
ging  and  irritating  at  times.  I  appreciate  the  honor,  but  I. 
think  one  must  have  a  thick  skin  and  a  dull  conscience  if 
he  be  not  disturbed  by  the  uncalled  for  criticisms,  insinua 
tions  and  reflections.  I  think  I  should  better  enjoy  the 
simple  and  quieter  life.  Especially,  should  I  ever  marry." 

"So  you  think  you  might  marry?  Well,  I  think  that  is 
sensible.  I  wonder  that  you  had  not  done  that  long  ago." 

"Oh,  well,  I  thought  I  had  reason,  but  I  see  I  had  not." 

282 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 

"Who  is  to  be  the  happy  bride?" 

"Oh,  goodness  knows,  father,  I  have  not  the  least  con 
ception." 

"I  had  thought  that,  perhaps,  your  contemplated  visit  to 
Texas  might  not  be  altogether  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  the 
country." 

"The  wish  was  not  the  father  of  the  thought,  was  it?" 

"I  am  not  so  certain  about  that.  If  I  were  a  young  man, 
with  no  ties,  I  should — 

"Ah,  there,  father,  be  careful.  You  know  it  takes  two 
to  make  a  bargain.  There  is  many  a  slip,  you  know." 

"Walter,  pardon  me,  but  when  you  came  in  here  you  indi 
cated  that  you  came  for  confidential  purposes.  If  I  have 
kept  you  from  your  real  purpose,  you  must  forgive  me.  I 
am  now  at  your  service." 

"Pardon  is  granted,  but  we  were  getting  along  toward 
the  matter  I  had  thought  of  consulting  you  about." 

"Oh,  were  we?"  replied  the  father,  with  a  knowing  smile. 
"You  see  we  old  men  are  somewhat  dull,  at  times,  and  so 
I  am  again  forced  to  beg  your  pardon  for  interrupting." 

"Not  at  all.  I  think  you  are  pretty  good  at  divining  one's 
thoughts.  I  want  to  know  your  opinion  of  Dorothy  Bath- 
bone,  if  you  care  to  express  yourself." 

"I  had  never  really  thought  much  about  her.  She  is  £> 
fairly  good-looking  girl,  I  think." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Well,  I  don't  exactly  understand  you,  Walter." 

"I  mean,  would  she  make  a  good  wife,  in  your  opinion?" 

"Do  you  mean,  would  she  make  a  good  wife  for  Walter 
Marchand  ?" 

283 


NORKOMA 

l,  if  you  must  pin  me  down  to  it,  that  is  exactly 
what  I  mean." 

"In  all  probability,  Dorothy  Eathbone  would  make  you 
the  very  best  wife  possible  for  you  to  obtain,  provided  that 
you  were  a  good  husband." 

"The  latter  goes  without  saying.  I  should  be  a  good  hus 
band,  I  know." 

"I  think  you  would  be,  for  you  are  old  enough,  now,  to 
know  how  to  treat  a  wife.  Some  men  don't  know  enough." 

"That  is  true.  If  Edith  and  I  were  not  brother  and  sis 
ter—" 

"Ah,  well,  don't  bother  your  head  about  that.  You  and 
Edith  do  nicely  as  brother  and  sister,  but  as  husband  and 
wife,  you  never  would  be  happy.  So  please  let  us  not  men 
tion  that  any  more." 

"You  are  not  averse  to  talking  upon  the  possibilities  are 
you,  father?" 

"There  are  no  such  possibilities.  I  do  not  understand 
you,  my  son." 

"Well,  perhaps,  I  don't  quite  understand  myself  on  that 
matter,  so  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  it.  If  you  are  ready 
to  go  home  for  the  day,  I  will  join  you." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  shall  go  home.  Can  you  not  call  up  But 
ler  and  have  him  join  us  at  'The  Cedars'  tonight?  I  begin 
to  have  a  warm  spot  in  my  heart  for  that  fellow  Butler." 

"Yes,  I  will  telephone  him  from  the  house,  upon  our  ar 
rival." 

When  Butler  arrived  at  "The  Cedars"  later  in  the  evening, 
he  felt  that  he  was  with  his  friends,  indeed.  From  the  con 
versations  he  had  had  with  the  father  and  son,  he  knew  that 
none  were  his  more  earnest  well-wishers  than  were  they. 

284 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 

He  could  not  doubt  the  kindly  feeling  of  the  mother,  as 
reflected  in  her  eyes  and  voice.  In  fact,  he  thought  he  could 
discern  a  more  tender  expression  in  Edith's  voice,  but  of 
that  he  was  not  so  sure.  There  was  such  graceful  modesty 
in  the  retiring  nature  of  Edith  that  held  in  check  the  bold 
approaches  of  men,  which  in  her  bore  a  double  charm  for 
Butler.  It  was  this  gentle  modesty  that  would  make  of  her 
a  model  wife.  Butler  recognized  that  fact  as  his  thoughts 
frequently  drifted  with  the  shadow  of  his  ambition  to  the 
home  where  she  should  be  as  a  crowned  queen. 

He  wondered  whether  Edith  divined  his  thoughts  and  inten 
tions,  or  whether  she  knew  of  the  conversation  between  her 
father,  her  brother  and  himself.  If  so,  might  she  not  feel 
that  a  "mean  advantage  was  being  taken  against  her?  Certain 
ly,  nothing  of  the  kind  was  intended  by  either.  They  were  all 
her  best  friends.  No,  he  would  not  allow  his  mind  to  become 
filled  with  doubts  and  misgivings.  He  would  conduct  him 
self  as  he  always  had  done,  and  await  developments.  Over- 
anxiety  and  undue  haste  might  ruin  his  plans,  altogether. 
The  consent  and  good  will  of  the  father  and  brother  was  all 
very  good,  .but  there  was  something  more  important.  The 
love  and  affection  of  a  woman  was  not  to  be  had  for  the 
asking,  nor  by  the  consent  of  family,  alone.  Edith  was  a 
woman  with  a  mind  of  her  own,  a  heart  of  her  own,  and 
with  a  love  of  her  own,  that  neither  father  nor  brother  could 
presume  to  direct. 

While  Butler  thus  permitted  his  thoughts  to  ramble  dur 
ing  intervals  in  the  general  conversation,  he  realized  that 
his  disposition  of  mind  was  being  observed^  but  he  was  power 
less  to  prevent  it.  He  racked  his  brain  for  some  topic  or 
theme  of  general  interest,  but  the  more  he  tried  the  more  he 

285 


NORKOMA 

recognized  his  inability  so  to  do.  He  had  never  found  him 
self  in  such  a  predicament  before,  and  it  was,  under  the  cir 
cumstances,  distressing  to  him.  He  doubted  the  propriety  of 
suggesting  anything  political,  but  something,  political  or 
otherwise,  which  would  divert  his  thoughts  from  their  pres 
ent  trend,  must  be  suggested.  Happily,  he  was  relieved  by 
LeBerte  Marchand. 

"What  do  the  papers  over  the  country  have  to  say,  Mr. 
Butler,  about  the  probability  of  yellow  fever?"  said  the  old 
gentleman. 

"The  general  expression  is  to  the  effect,  that  if  the  coast 
cities  were  more  careful,  and  more  attentive  to  the  question 
of  strict  sanitation,  there  would  be  little  fear  of  epidemic." 

<rWell,  I  am  sure  their  belief  is  well  grounded.  I  notice 
the  comment  by  the  state  press  on  the  work  being  done  by 
the  present  city  administration,  along  that  line.  It  is  grat 
ifying  to  know  that  the  people,  generally,  approve." 

"I  think  the  people  of  the  interior  have  the  moral  right 
to  expect,  and  the  legal  right  to  demand,  that  all  coast  towns 
and  cities,  or  any  other  places  where  contagions  may  propa 
gate  or  become  epidemic,  shall  keep  scrupulously  clean  and 
in  good  sanitary  condition,"  said  Walter.  "The  interior  por 
tions  of  the  country  have  an  interest  in  our  coast  cities,  but 
their  own  lives,  and  their  own  security  is  of  more  impor 
tance.  The  failure  of  the  coast  cities  to  give  this  matter 
careful  attention  will,  eventually,  result  in  a  national  quar 
antine  law." 

"Oh,  yes,  that  recalls  to  mind  the  remark  of  Miss  Bilby, 
one  of  our  neighbors,"  said  Edith.  "Her  father  felt  indig 
nant  when  he  was  served  with  notice  to  clean  up  his  premises, 
and  I  presume  Miss  Bilby  obtained  her  fund  of  knowledge 

286 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 

upon  the  subject  from  her  father.  She  argued  that  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  National  government  to  look  after  and  pre 
vent  epidemics,  especially  yellow  fever,  because  it  was  al 
ways  brought  into  the  coast  cities  from  some  ocean-going 
vessel.  Several  of  the  party  discussed  the  matter,  but  I  said 
nothing,  owing  to  the  fact  of  my  brother  being  the  Mayor. 
I  did  not  know  that  there  was  any  disposition  to  criticise  the 
city  authorities,  or  so  I  pretended." 

"Well,  you  must  expect  people  to  complain,"  said  Walter, 
"even  when  they  do  the  things  they  know  to  be  for  their 
own  personal  good,  especially  if  government  directs  them 
so  to  do." 

"For  my  own  enlightenment  on  the  subject,"  said  the 
elder  Ma-rchand,  "what  objection  should  there  be  to  a  na 
tional  quarantine?" 

"I  am  not  a  statesman  nor  a  philosopher,"  returned  Walter, 
"but  I  will  lay  the  premise  that,  a  national  quarantine  is, 
primarily,  wrong  in  principle.  From  the  standpoint  of  polit 
ical  science,  or  the  science  of  government,  the  responsibility 
for  and  the  preservation  of,  the  public  health  rests  with 
the  state  government.  To  illustrate,  suppose  I  became  af 
flicted  with  insanity.  What  government  cares  for  me?  Does 
the  national  government  take  charge  of  me?  Does  the  city 
government  take  charge  of  me?  No,  neither.  It  is  the 
state  government  which  takes  me  in  charge,  protects  me 
against  harm,  and  also  protects  the  citizens  against  harm 
from  me.  True,  local  authorities  take  the  first  steps  in  the 
proceedings,  but  those  steps  are  directed  and  authorizied 
by  state  laws.  Take  the  criminals,  the  forger,  the  murderer, 
and  all  others  who  commit  high  crime.  Are  they  not  subject 
to  the  police  powers  and  regulations  of  the  state?  Why? 

287 


NORKOMA 

For  the  preservation  of  the  safety,  protection  and  peace  of 
the  people. 

"The  safeguarding  and  preservation  of  the  public  health, 
the  protection  of  life,  liberty  and  property  of  the  people  has 
always  been  regarded  as  not  only  the  absolute  duty,  but  the 
inalienable  rights  of  state  government.  These  rights  and 
duties  can  not  be  shifted, 'neither  can  they  be  alienated  with 
out  changing  the  policy  of  our  general  government,  and  at 
the  same  time  robbing  the  people  of  the  state  of  a  precious 
right  and  privilege  that  they  should  never  lose.  How  any 
man,  who  ever  believed  in  the  doctrine  of  state  rights,  could 
voluntarily  abandon  the  privilege  of  self-regulation  of  the 
police  powers  of  the  state,  I  can  not  understand." 

"Aside  from  the  science  of  government,''  suggested  But 
ler,  "the  theory  of  a  national  quarantine  might  not  be  so 
bad  as  would  become  the  effects  of  its  operation." 

"How  is  that,  Mr.  Butler,"  queried  Edith,  anxious  for  his 
words  of  wisdom. 

"In  theory,  the  first  thing  a  citizen  thinks  of,  perhaps,  in 
connection  with  the  idea  of  a  national  quarantine  law,  is 
the  proposition  that  he  will  be  relieved  of  the  cost  of  the 
quarantine,  which  amounts  to  about  fifty  thousand  dollars 
per  year  to  each  of  the  Gulf  states,  but  to  the  individual  citi 
zen,  the  price  of  a  cigar.  He  forgets  the  value  to  himself 
and  to  his  neighbors  of  local  self-government,  and  the  right 
to  regulate  the  police  powers  of  the  state.  He  thinks  only 
of  the  burden  of  the  cost  by  way  of  taxes,  overlooking  the 
fact  that  the  individual  cost  is  infinitesimal. 

"Now,  in  the  actual  practice  of  a  national  quarantine, 
there  are  several  matters  of  which  the  people  of  the  Gulf 
States  should  carefully  consider.  Sea  ports  and  transporta- 

288 


FORMING  NEW  TIES 

tion  lines  arc-  always  envious  of  each  other,  always  zealous 
for  business.  They  are  sometimes  not  so  generous  and  kindly 
disposed  that  they  would  not  injure  and  destroy  a  com 
petitor  in  order  to  gain  for  themselves.  So,  it  might  be 
well  to  consider  the  future  welfare  of  the  Gulf  ports  before 
clamoring  too  loudly  for  a  national  quarantine." 

"I  am  quite  interested  in  your  defense  of  State  Rights  and 
our  Gulf  ports,  Mr.  Butler.  Won't  you  please  illustrate 
your  deductions  by  a  hypothetical  case?"  said  Edith. 

"If,  by  so  doing,  I  shall  the  better  explain  my  contention, 
I  shall  do  so.  Take,  for  instance,  the  large  cargoes  of  sugar, 
coffee  and  other  produce  that  you  see  every  day  brought 
into  our  port,  here.  Now,  let  the  port  be  closed  011  account 
of  an  epidemic,  and  where  would  those  cargoes  land?  The 
answer  must  be,  that  they  would  go  to  the  Atlantic  ports, 
such  as  Boston,  New  York  and  other  places.  While  the  major 
portion  of  those  cargoes  were  for  New  Orleans  and  the  in 
terior,  say  St.  Louis,  Chicago,  Kansas  City  and  other  centers, 
they  must  go  via  the  Atlantic  seaports,  because  the  Gulf 
ports  are  closed.  The  lines  of  transportation  entering  the 
eastern  ports  are  then  thrilled  with  delight,  for  they  will 
thereby  obtain  a  long  haul  in  order  for  the  goods  to  reach 
their  destination. 

"Now,  with  a  corps  of  young  marine  hospital  physicians, 
who  had  procured  their  positions  more  through  the  political 
influence  of  their  friends  than  by  reason  of  their  brains, 
education  and  experience,  in  charge  of  the  quarantine  sta 
tions  along  the  Gulf,  it  would  be  a  great  streak  of  fortune  if 
our  ports  were  not  closed  six  months  in  the  year.  Mistaken^ 
diagnoses  often  occur  in  all  disease,  and  not  infrequently 
in  yellow  fever.  A  mistake  in  the  diagnosis  of  one  case 


NORKOMA 

would  close  our  ports  and  result  in  damage  and  injury  to  our 
state  and  our  people,  amounting  to  millions  of  dollars. 
Where  then  is  the  price  of  our  citizen's  cigar?  I  shall  not 
speak  of  the  political  phase  of  the  question.  Mistaken  diag 
noses  afford  sufficient  basis  for  the  illustration.  It  is  pos 
sible,  however,  that  the  Gulf  ports,  through  a  system  of 
political  chicanery,  could  be  permanently  closed,  but  not 
probable,  even  with  the  worst  conditions  of  which  we  can 
conceive." 

"No,  Butler,"  said  Walter,  "the  people  of  the  middle 
states  and  the  great  west  would  never  submit  to  such  out 
rages.  The  Gulf  ports  have  already  demonstrated  to  those 
people  that  they  are  nearer  the  markets  of  the  world  by 
thousands  of  miles  than  before  the  opening  of  these  ports. 
The  people  of  the  middle  west  will  never  submit  to  such 
outrages  upon  the  Gulf  ports.  The  greatest  enemies  our  ports 
have  at  the  present  time,  from  an  epidemic  standpoint,  are 
the  cities  and  towns  of  the  Gulf  coast.  If  they  will  continue 
in  their  neglect  and  refusal  to  take  the  necessary  precau 
tions,  they  will  learn  the  sad  lesson  which  you  have  so  forcibly 
demonstrated." 


GREAT  IS  TEXAS 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 
GREAT  IS  TEXAS. 

With  a  heavy  heart  did  Edith  bid  her  brother  good-bye 
and  God  speed.,  as  he  took  his  departure  for  Texas.  There 
was  some  consolation  for  the  poor  girl,  however,  as"  Joe  But 
ler  was  at  the  train  to  bid  his  friend  good-bye,  and  to  the 
good  care  of  Butler  did  the  brother  commend  his  sister.  To 
no  other  person  could  Edith  have  been  better  commended, 
nor,  in  fact,  could  she  have  been  better  pleased.  Butler  was 
the  very  soul  of  honor,  and  Edith  really  liked  him  better 
than  she  knew. 

Walter  Marchand  had  two  objects  in  visiting  Texas.  One 
was  to  learn  more  about  the  state.  The  other  object  was 
to  enjoy  the  company  of  Dorothy  Rathbone,  and,  probably, 
ascertain  whether  she  would  be  a  suitable  and  agreeable  life- 
companion.  He  had,  of  late,  been  reading  a  great  deal  about 
Texas,  so  that  he  visited  the  state  as  an  ardent  student  of 
the  history,  present  conditions  and  future  possibilities  of 
that  great  commonwealth.  To  Walter  Marchand,  a  new 
world  was  beginning  to  unfold  before  his  mental  vision.  He 
had  lived  within  a  narrow  sphere,  and  had  seen  little  of  the 
great  world,  although  he  had  been  quite  a  reader.  His  activ 
ities  had  been  confined  to  college  life,  the  practice  of  law, 
and  local  office-holding.  He  now  became  eager  to  step  out 

291 


NORKOMA 

into  broader  fields  wliere  he  could  observe  the  great,  throb 
bing,  pulsing  world  of  human  activity.  His  visit  to  Texas 
would  be  the  first  step  toward  the  fulfilling  of  that  desire. 

"Walter  Marchand,  you  don't  know  how  glad  we  are  to 
have  you  visit  us.  Why  in  the  world  did  you  not  bring 
Edith  with  you?"  said  Dorothy,  when  the  visitor  arrived 
in  Houston. 

"Well,  the  pleasure  is  not  all  your  own,  I  assure  you," 
returned  Walter.  "You  must  accord  me  a  portion  of  the 
pleasure  in  again  meeting  the  fair  and  charming  little  friend 
of  my  sister." 

"Oh,  you  flatterer,  you  know  you  do  not  mean  half  you 
say.  I  thought  you  a  solemn,  stern  man  of  business,  unused 
to  the  graceful  customs  of  the  social  world." 

"Well,  Dorothy,  you  see  you  have  misjudged  me.  What  T 
was  at  home,  I  need  not  be  in  Texas.  You  have  so  much 
room  in  this  great  big  state,  that  the  moment  one  crosses 
the  border  line,  he  is  possessed  with  a  sense  of  freedom 
which,  to  a  new-comer,  is  liable  to  cause  him  to  say  all  sort? 
of  extravagant  things." 

"I  am  glad  your  first  impression  of  our  state  is  not  alto 
gether  a  bad  one.  I  am  certain  the  more  you  see  of  it  the 
better  you  will  be  pleased." 

"I  am  quite  sure  of  that,  and  I  am  going  to  try  to  see 
a  great  deal  of  it.  At  least  I  have  so  arranged  my  itinerary." 

"Of  course,  you  will  see  what  there  is  at  Houston  and  Gal- 
veston  first,  following  with  a  slight  glance  at  the  empire." 

"I  am  quite  anxious  to  see  the  San  Jacinto  battle  grounds, 
the  birthplace  of  this  great  commonwealth.  I  presume  it 
has  been  transformed  into  a  beautiful  park,  with  great  shaft? 
of  marble  and  granite  erected  to  the  memory  of  the  heroes 

292 


who  sacrificed  all  they  had,  to  gain  their  county's  inde 
pendence." 

"No,"  said  Dorothy,  with  head  slightly  bowed,  a  tinge  of 
color  diffused  upon  her  cheeks.  "We  have  not,  as  yet,  made 
all  the  improvements  upon  those  grounds  which  are  to  be 
made.  But  in  time,  the  birthplace  of  Texas  will  be  made 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  spots  in  the  whole  country.'"' 

"I  am  sure  of  that,"  said  Walter,  recognizing  that  his 
friend  felt  a  delicacy,  for  some  reason,  in  speaking  about 
the  present  condition  of  that  hallowed  spot.  "Few  places 
in  our  great  country  may  boast  of  having  given  to  the  world 
such  men  as  Houston,  Crocket,  Bonham,  Bowie,  Travis,  Fan- 
nin,  Lamar,  De  Zavala  and  a  host  of  others  equally  great. 
Certainly,  your  State  is  as  rich  in  historic  lore,  of  deeds  of 
bravery  and  love  of  country,  as  any  place  on  earth.  I  shall 
not  fail  to  visit  San  Jacinto  and  the  zilamo,  before  I  leave 
Texas." 

As  the  days  passed  by,  Walter  began  to  realize  that,  to  see 
Texas  as  a  state,  he  would  be  required  to  remain  far  longer 
than  he  had  calculated.  He  could  not  prolong  his  visit  be 
yond  a  month  or,  at  the  farthest,  six  weeks.  He  had  already 
enjoyed  two  weeks  of  his  visit,  yet  he  had  barely  gotten 
ready  to  see  the  country.  Marchand  was  studying  conditions, 
however,  and  that  was  a  greater  source  of  interest  to  him 
than  seeing  the  country,  as  a  whole.  It  was  upon  his  return 
from  a  hurried  trip  through  the  coast  country  between  Hous 
ton,  San  Antonio  and  Brownsville,  that  the  visitor  fairly 
bubbled  over  with  enthusiasm. 

"My  goodness,  what  a  country  you  Texas  people  have. 
Certainly,  the  world  can  have  no  idea  of  the  possibilities  of 
that  great  scope  of  country,  lying  between  Houston  and  Mex- 

293 


NORKOMA 

ico,  to  say  nothing  of  the  country  east  of  Houston.  Oh, 
it  must  have  been  a  hard  struggle  the  early  Texans  had  in 
obtaining  their  own  consent  to  decide  against  imperialism 
and  in  favor  of  joining  the  Union  of  the  American  States. 
Their  conduct  in  that  matter,  however,  has  meant  more  for 
human  liberty,  the  prosperity  and  progress  of  our  country 
than  can  ever  be  fully  known.  Certainly,  the  people  of 
the  United  States  owe  an  everlasting  debt  of  gratitude  to  the 
early  Texans,  since  they  chose  to  become  an  American  State 
in  preference  to  being  an  empire." 

"I  am  really  glad  to  note  your  enthusiasm  about  our  coun 
try  and  our  people.  It  is  really  inspiring.'"' 

"Why,  bless  you,  Dorothy,  it  is  of  itself  inspiring  to  a  fel 
low  to  come  into  Texas  with  its  two  hundred  and  seventy 
thousand  square  miles  of  domain.  Texas  is  far  greater  in 
area  than  is  the  German  empire  or  France.  All  of  New 
England,  if  set  down  in  Texas,  would  fill  but  one  corner  of 
the  state.  From  El  Paso  to  Texarkana  is  farther  than  from 
Chicago  to  New  York.  The  German  empire  has  sixty  mil 
lions  of  people,  and  France  forty  millions.  Texas,  with  her 
rich  soils,  vast  deposits  of  coal,  iron,  oil,  salt,  sulphur,  marble, 
granite,  and  precious  minerals,  together  with  her  unbounded 
pasture  ranges,  inexhaustible  forests  of  timber,  unnumbered 
fields  of  rice,  cotton,  wheat,  corn  and  other  cereals ;  the 
largest  local  fruit  growing  belt  in  the  world,  with  Italian 
skies  and  salt-laden  atmosphere  as  it  sweeps  up  from  the 
Gulf,  is  well  able  to  support,  in  luxury,  a  far  larger  popula 
tion  than  either  Germany  or  France.  Would  it  surprise  you 
had  the  early  Texans  dreamed  of  empire?  I  am  surprised, 
though  glad,  that  they  chose  the  better  part.  Why  should 
not  Texas  have,  in  time,  a  population  equal  in  numbers  to 

294 


cither  Germany  or  France?  She  will  have.  The  Gulf  of 
Mexico  will  be  to  the  western  world  what  the  Mediterranean 
Sea  is  to  the  old  world,  and  Texas  is  and  will  be  the  center 
of  the  new  world.  See  the  great  ports  and  harbors  upon  the 
Gulf  of  Mexico.  See  the  mighty  rivers,  their  sources  near 
the  great  lakes  of  the  North,  wending  their  ways  down 
through  the  vast  trans-Mississippi  country,  emptying  into 
the  Gulf.  See  the  great  railroads,  now  rapidly  transposing 
their  systems  so  as  to  follow  the  trend  of  those  rivers,  that 
both  the  railroads  and  the  rivers  may  aid  each  other  in 
bearing  to  the  ports  of  the  Gulf  the  products  of  the  greatest 
and  richest  producing  area  of  territory  in  the  world.  See, 
then,  the  building  of  the  Panama  Canal,  that  will  bring  the 
Gulf  ports  closer,  by  thousands  of  miles,  to  the  world's  mar 
kets.  Is  it  any  dream  to  look  a  few  years  forward  and  witness 
the  Mediterranean  Sea  of  the  western  world  drawing  to  it  the 
population,  commerce  and  facilities  that  shall  make  its 
adjacent  territory  the  very  center  of  the  business  activities 
of  the  western  hemisphere?" 

''Mr.  Marchand,  you  astonish  me  with  your  prophesies.  I 
did  not  know  you  had  given  so  much  thought  to  the  future 
possibilities  of  Texas.  Even  if  one  hundredth  part  of  your 
anticipations  prove  true,  it  should  be  enough  to  make  our 
hearts  glad." 

"From  my  point  of  view,  one  great  fact  in  bringing  about 
the  transformation  which  I  have  mentioned,  will  be  a  Pan- 
American  College  of  Commerce,  to  be  located  somewhere  in 
this  part  of  the  country.  !S"ow,  Dorothy,  let  us  discuss  the 
question  for  a  moment.  What  is  your  conception  of  what 
the  proposed  Pan-American  College  of  Commerce  should 
be?" 

295 


NORKOMA 

"Keally,  Mr.  Walter,  I  fear  I  have  not  given  to  that  phase 
of  the  subject  the  consideration  that  it  would  appear  to 
demand.  What  knowledge  I  have  regarding  it,  I  have  ob 
tained  from  the  Texas  commissioners,  who  were  appointed 
by  the  legislature  for  the  promulgation  of  the  project,  and 
also  from  the  articles  from  time  to  time  appearing  in  the 
leading  newspapers  and  magazines  of  the  country.  I  believe 
I  handed  you  the  report  of  the  legislative  committee,  did  I 
not?" 

"Yes,  I  have  that.  My  idea  of  the  project,  from  a  purely 
commercial  standpoint,  so  far  as  the  government  of  the 
countries  interested  are  concerned,  would  require  the  fol 
lowing  : 

"First,  to  teach  the  Latin,  Spanish,  Portuguese  and  Eng 
lish  languages,  as  spoken  in  the  Americas.  Second,  to  teach 
the  customs,  habits,  wants  and  needs  of  the  peoples  of  those 
countries.  Third,  to  have  on  permanent  exposition,  the 
various  styles  of  costumes  and  wearing  apparel;  samples  of 
the  various  articles  of  commerce,  including  utensils,  tools, 
instruments,  implements,  machinery  and,  in  fact,  everything 
that  is  of  common  use  or  that  would  be  salable  or  the  sub 
ject  of  interchange,  in  all  the  Americas." 

"Goodness,  gracious,  Mr.  Walter,  that  would  mean  an 
exposition  of  mammoth  proportions,  would  it  not?" 

"Yes,  it  would  mean  that,  finally,  but  it  would  mean  bus 
iness  of  mammoth  proportions  for  the  countries  interested. 
Now,  that  comprises  the  commercial  feature  in  the  strictest 
sense,  but  is  not  all.  There  should  be  carried  along  in  this 
connection,  a  vast  college  of  engineering  in  all  its  branches, 
such  as  shall  be  able  to  supply  the  demands  for  mining, 
electric,  construction,  structural,  railroad,  irrigation  and  other 

296 


"THE    ALAMO." 


N&ftf^tfi^-'^-M-WiM-  '*'  -  *  ^-^7 


1836. 


1906. 


GREAT  IS  TEXAS 

classes  of  civil  engineers,  for  the  development  work  that  is 
but  just  beginning  in  the  western  and  southwestern  states, 
Mexico,  Central  and  South  America.  At  this  very  moment 
there  is  a  demand  for  every  mining,  structural  and  con 
structing  engineer  that  may  be  found  in  our  whole  country. 
The  colleges  of  the  United  States  that  have  departments  em 
bracing  this  character  of  engineering  frequently  find  the 
demand  for  such  engineers  greater  than  can  be  supplied. 

"In  this  institution,  and  in  this  connection,  perhaps,  woulcl 
be  taken  up  the  study  of  the  geography,  topography,  mineral 
deposits  and  all  natural  resources  of  the  Americas.  All  this 
would  mean  the  unfolding  and  development  of  the  Americas 
beyond  the  dreams  of  the  most  enthusiastic.  To  this  institu 
tion  would  come  the  young  men  and  women  of  the  world, 
who  were  commercially  inclined,  to  be  educated  and  devel 
oped  along  lines  that  would  fit  them  for  governmental  duties 
as  well  as  all  lines  of  commercial  activity  in  the  Americas. 
To  this  institution  would  also  come  the  governments  for  their 
commercial  agents,  diplomats  and  ministers.  Here,  the  ex 
porters,  merchants,  managers  and  officers  of  the  great  com 
mercial  activities  of  our  whole  western  hemisphere  would 
come  to  select  their  agents,  salesmen  and  other  employes  that 
would  be  most  suitable  and  thoroughly  fitted  for  the  special 
lines  and  character  of  business  in  which  and  wherever  their 
services  might  be  required.  It  would  also  furnish  teachers 
and  ministers  to  all  applicants  therefor,  until,  by  and  by, 
there  would  be  brought  about  common  systems,  common  in 
terests,  common  welfare,  common  ideas  and  the  common 
good  of  the  United  States  and  Latin-America." 

"Mr.  Marchand,  I  am  greatly  enthused  by  your  represen 
tation  of  the  subject.  It  is  wonderful.  Why,  the  possibilities 

297 


NORKOMA 

and  future  grandeur  of  such  an  institution  are  beyond  one's 
full  comprehension/' 

"Certainly,  and  what  I  have  outlined  is  not  all.  I  have 
merely  mentioned  a  portion  of  the  functions  of  the  institu 
tion,  so  far  as  the  governments  of  the  Americas  would  con 
trol.  There  is  still  another  feature :  In  the  course  of  time, 
there  would  grow  up,  around  this  governmental  institution,  a 
series  of  colleges  and  institutes  of  an  international  character 
that,  taken  as  a  whole,  would  make  it  the  greatest  educational 
center  the  world  ever  knew." 

"How,  and  by  what  process,  would  those  colleges  and  insti 
tutes  grow  up  around  the  Pan-American  College  of  Com 
merce  ?" 

"They  would  be  the  everlasting  international  monuments 
to  the  memory  of  the  philanthropists  of  the  Americas.  How 
would  this  title  sound?  'The  Carnegie  International  Insti 
tute  of  Literature/  or  'The  Eockefeller  International  Col 
lege  of  Science/  or  'The  Diaz  International  College  of  Arts/ 
and  others  that  might  be  named.  Once  the  philanthropists 
should  be  afforded  such  an  opportunity  as  would  be  here 
presented  to  benefit  the  world  and,  at  the  same  time,  build 
for  themselves  those  everlasting  international  monuments 
to  their  memory,  they  would  not  overlook  nor  let  it  pass." 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that,  but  it  does  not  seem  unreason 
able  when  one  thinks  of  it.  Oh,  how  I  would  like  to  see 
Texas  the  home  of  this  great  system  of  educational  enter 
prises." 

"Why  not  Texas?  Texas  is  the  only  natural  gateway, 
both  by  sea  and  land,  to  the  southern  republics,  and  through 
which  the  interchange  of  commerce  between  the  countries 
of  the  western  hemisphere  should  pass." 

298 


"I  presume  there  is  no  doubt  about  the  practicability  and 
feasibility  of  the  project,  is  there?" 

"None  whatever.  I  learn  from  your  Texas  commissioners 
that  the  plan  or  project  has  been  indorsed  by  the  United 
States  government  through  the  department  of  commerce. 
It  has  been  indorsed  by  conventions  of  the  Trans-Mississippi 
Congress,  The  American  Cotton  Manufacturers  Association, 
and  other  national  associations.  It  has,  besides,  the  indi 
vidual  indorsement  of  some  of  the  greatest  men  of  our  coun 
try,  among  them,  several  who  signified  their  willingness  to 
assist  in  the  promulgation  of  the  work  by  liberal  donations 
to  a  fund  for  that  purpose." 

"I  should  think  it  required  a  vast  amount  of  labor  and 
the  expenditure  of  some  money  to  promulgate  this  project, 
it  being  of  such  mammoth  proportions." 

•'No  doubt  about  it.  The  Texas  commissioners  are  en 
titled  to  the  everlasting  gratitude  of  our  whole  people  for 
their  earnest,  faithful  and  unselfish  devotion  to  this  cause. 
They  have  expended  their  time,  labor,  and  their  own  indi 
vidual  funds  in  its  promulgation,  for  I  understand  there  has 
been  and  can  be  no  appropriation  of  public  state  funds  for 
the  purpose." 

"That  is  correct,  as  I  understand  the  situation.  I  agree 
with  you  that  to  those  men  is  due  the  gratitude  of  the  peo 
ple." 

"Their  devotion  to  this  cause  is  only  another  example  of 
the  heroism,  patriotism  and  public  spirit  which  has  ever 
characterized  the  people  of  Texas.  Great  is  Texas,  great  are 
her  future  possibilities,  and  still  greater  are  her  people." 

"I  hope  we  shall,  some  day,  number  you  among  our  Texas 
people,  Mr.  Marchand." 

299 


NORKOMA 

"If  my  calculations  do  not  fail  me,  I  am  certain  you  shall. 
By  the  way,  Dorothy,  let  me  ask  you  why  you  have  a  pref 
erence  for  red  roses  instead  of  other  colors?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?" 

"Because,  I  have  observed  that  you  always  select  that  color 
in  roses,  and  still  you  prefer  some  other  color  in  all  other 
flowers." 

"Well,  I  do  not  know.  You  know  we  all  have  our  pecul 
iarities." 

"I  have  observed  that,  in  the  many  boutonnieres  which 
you  have  given  me,  never  once  have  you  made  use  of  any 
but  a  red  rose." 

"Perhaps  there  is  some  secret  connected  with  that.  If  so, 
I  should  not  care  to  disclose  it." 

"Then  I  shall  discover  the  secret,  if  I  can." 

Another  week  had  passed  by,  and  Walter  Marchand  was 
more  deeply  interested  in  his  observations  and  investigations 
than  ever.  With  each  passing  day,  the  tender  attachment 
grew  stronger  and  stronger,  until  the  former  half  intention 
became  a  strong  determination  to  change  his  manner  of  liv 
ing  and,  if  possible,  to  make  Dorothy  Eathbone  his  wife. 
While  in  deep  contemplation  upon  the  subject,  one  day,  he 
received  two  letters  from  home.  One  was  from  Edith  and 
the  other  from  Butler,  as  he  well  knew  by  the  handwriting 
upon  the  envelopes.  The  letters  contained  glad  news,  yet 
caused  a  tinge  of  pain.  Edith  and  Butler  had  improved  the 
opportunity  by  Walter's  absence  and  were  engaged  to  be 
married.  It  was  too  good  news  to  withhold  from  the  brother, 
besides,  they  believed  it  would  stimulate  him  to  more  fer 
vent  and  decisive  efforts  to  win  Dorothy's  heart  and  hand. 

There  was  no  doubting  the  fact  that  the  good  news  had 

300 


GREAT  IS  TEXAS 

the  desired  effect  upon  Walter  Marchand,  for  he  felt  that 
Edith  would  not  now  be  left  alone  and  disconsolate.  He 
would  now  make  hay,  as  he  suggested  to  himself,  while  the 
sun  shone,  for  the  time  of  his  departure  for  home  was  rapidly 
drawing  near. 

"Why  has  Dorothy  persistently  presented  me  with  a  red 
rose  for  a  boutonniere?  She  says  there  may  be  some  secret 
in  it.  I  wonder  what  the  secret  can  be?  What  can  be  the 
secret  of  the  red  rose?" 

As  Walter  pondered  and  mused,  he  took  his  pencil  and 
began  scribbling  upon  a  blank  page  of  Butler's  letter.  When 
he  awoke  from  his  reverie,  he  found  that  he  had  written  the 
following  stanzas: 

"I've  gathered  sweet  flowers  from  many  fair  climes, 
And  the  mem'ries  they  bear  fill  my  heart  full  of  glee; 
But  the  pretty  red  rose  is  the  sweetest  of  all, 
With  your  sweet   little  fingers  you  plucked  it  my  lass, 
'Twas  plucked  by  your  fingers  and  given  to  me." 

"What  meaneth  the  giving  of  the  pretty  red  rose, 
By  your  dear  little  hand  presented  to  me? 
Forgive  me,  my  darling,  your  heart,  only,  knows 
The  meaning  intended  by  the  little  red  rose — 
It  may  be  a  message  of  true  love  from  thee." 

"But  how  shall  I  know,  I  wonder,  my  dear, 

The  meaning  intended  by  it  to  convey, 

When  your  lips  are  so  silent,  too  silent,  I  fear, 

To  enlighten  my  mind  in  so  modest  a  way, 

While  if  speaking,  might  turn  all  the  darkness  'to  day." 

301 


NORKOMA 


"Speak — you  will  not?    Then  to  the  red  rose 
I'll  turn  for  my  answer,  and  see?    It  reveals 
The  message  intended  for  it  to  convey — 
The  secret  you've  fostered  from  day  unto  day, 
The  secret  of  love  which  your  heart  surely  feels." 

"Ah — treasure  divine,  here  in  my  hreast 
I'll  foster  and  keep  it,  the  secret  it  knows, 
Protected  by  love,  with  kisses  caressed, 
Forever  revealing  her  secret  confessed 
By  giving  to  me  the  pretty  red  rose." 

"Well,  that  is  not  so  very  bad,"  said  Walter.  "Let  me  see, 
I  shall  give  that  a  title.  I  will  call  it,  'The  Secret  of  the 
Eed  Eose.'  I  think  I  had  better  hand  it  to  Dorothy.  I  can 
open  up  the  subject  of  love  and  possibly  marriage  by  that 
means.  I'll  not  put  it  off  a  moment  longer." 

A  few  hours  later,  Walter  and  Dorothy  were  together, 
seated  upon  a  rustic  under  the  shade  of  a  live  oak  in  the 
magnificent  gardens  of  the  Houston  Turn  Verein.  Dorothy 
had  just  read  Edith's  letter,  or  that  portion  of  it  which  told 
of  her  engagement  to  Mr.  Butler. 

"I  am  glad  dear  old  Edith  has  concluded  to  marry,  and 
more,  that  she  was  so  forunate  as  to  select  so  good  a  husband 
as  I  know  Mr.  Butler  will  be,"  said  Walter.  Dorothy  re 
turned  the  letter  with  a  sigh. 

"Yes,  I  am  also  glad,  for  I  always  thought  Edith  deserved 
the  best  of  husbands." 

"I  don't  think  Edith  deserves  any  better  husband  than  do 
you,  Dorothy." 

302 


GREAT  IS  TEXAS 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  I  shall  never  marry.  I  know 
I  never  shall  unless  I  could  marry  the  man  I  should  love." 

"By  the  way.,  Dorothy,  I  have  been  vain  enough  to  make 
a  guess  about  the  secret  of  the  red  rose.  I  scribbled  it  on 
tliis  paper.  Will  you  read,  it  please?" 

"Certainly." 

Walter  watched  his  friend  closely  and  witnessed  a  pink 
tinge  flashing  and  darting  across  her  face  and  around  her 
ears,  noting  also  the  irregular  rising  and  falling  of  her  bosom, 
all  of  which  he  well  knew  meant  emotion,  passionate  emotion. 
As  Dorothy  finished  reading,  a  crystal  dropped  from  her 
lashes  which  she  tried  to  hide  from  her  friend,  but  was 
unsuccessful. 

"Have  I  "guessed  it,  Dorothy?" 

"You  had  no  business  prying  into  my  secret,  Mr.  Walter." 
"Dorothy,  did  I  not  love  you  so  honorably,  nobly  and  in 
tensely  I  should  not  have  cared  about  the  secret  of  the  rose. 
I  reckon  I  was  vain  in  presuming  that  you  cared  for  me,  but 
I  had  long  hoped  for  it  to  be  so.  Have  I  really  offended 
you,  dear?" 

"No,  that  is,  I  think  not." 

"May  I  hope  to  win  your  love?" 

"Why  do  you  wish  my  love?" 

"Because  I  want  to  make  you  my  wife." 

Dorothy  quickly  reached  over  to  her  right  and  plucked  a 
red  rose  from  a  bush  close  at  hand  and,  placing  it  upon  the 
lapel  of  his  coat,  said : 

"You  are  the  best  guesser  I  ever  knew." 

"Do  you  love  me,  Dorothy?" 

"Yes,  Walter,  I  have  loved  you  since  long  before  I  ever 

303 


NORKOMA 

saw  you.  I  fell  in  love  with  you  through  the  letters  you 
wrote  to  Edith  while  she  and  1  wore  in  college." 

"Thank  God  for  your  love.    And  will  you  be  my  wife  ?" 

"If  you  wish  it." 

"I  came  to  Texas  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  win  you, 
Dorothy.  Having  succeeded,  let  us  walk  down  to  the  tele 
graph  office,  that  we  may  even  up  with  Edith  and  Butler 
hy  sending  them  the  news.  What  say  you  ?" 

"I  do  not  object.    In  fact,  I  shall  enjoy  the  diversion." 

"And  you  are  mine,  Dorothy,"  said  Walter,  putting  his 
'arm  around  her. 

"Yes,  after  you  ask  sister  for  me,"  said  Dorothy  with  a 
jolly  laugh. 

"Suppose  we  see  your  sister  first  and  send  the  messages 
afterward." 

"No,  let  us  send  the  messages  first,  Walter,"  said  Dorothy, 
her  upturned  ruby  lips  slightly  puckered,  as  if  ready  to  be 
kissed. 

And  they  were  immediately — not  disappointed. 


304 


(FROM   PHOTO   BY  J.   MOOOY   D»WSON) 

"I  CAME  TO  TEXAS  FOR  NO  OTHER  PURPOSE  THAN  TO  WIN  YOU,  DOROTHY," 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
THE  OLD  MAN'S  STOEY. 

When  Butler  and  Edith  received  the  messages  announcing 
the  betrothal  of  Walter  and  Dorothy,  their  cup  of  joy  was 
well  nigh  filled.  The  messages,  however,  were  sent  as  confi 
dential,  and  the  only  regret  was  that  the  joyful  tidings  could 
not  be  communicated  to  the  father  and  mother. 

LeBerte  Marchand  and  the  good  little  mother  were  happy 
in  the  knowledge  that  Edith  and  Butler  were  to  become  hus 
band  and  wife.  Their  happiness  would  have  been  complete, 
had  the  additional  news  reached  them  of  Walter's  good  for 
tune.  They  each  hoped,  however,  that  the  son  would  bring 
good  tidings  from  Texas,  when  he  came  home.  With  this 
hope  and  with  the  knowledge  that  Edith's  happiness  was  now 
secure,  the  father  and  mother  were  enjoying  the  bliss  of 
complete  contentment  and  entire  satisfaction. 

Joe  Butler  kept  on  at  his  work,  as  usual.  He  was  more 
zealous  than  ever,  if  that  were  possible.  At  all  events,  there 
was  more  life,  more  vigor,  more  snap  in  all  his  movements. 
Xow  he  had  something  for  which  to  live,  something  to  re 
vive  the  drooping  spirit.  Much  of  his  attention  had  been 
given  to  the  "Strange  Old  Man,"  of  late.  The  old  gentle 
man,  for  such  he  now  proved  himself  to  be,  having  recov 
ered  from  his  long  spell  of  fever,  quickly  developed  his  powers 

305 


NORKOMA 

and  senses,  evidencing  the  fact  that  he  had,  at  some  past 
time,  been  a  man  of  refinement  and  education.  Butler  per 
ceived  that  fact  long  before,  but  awaited  the  full  recovery, 
as  well  as  an  opportune  time  for  the  revelation.  At  last 
it  came,  and  having  fully  prepared  every  convenience,  in 
cluding  a  stenographer  to  take  down  all  that  was  to  be  said, 
the  proceedings  were  had  in  a  business-like  manner. 

Joe  Butler  had  previously  talked  over  the  matter,  which 
was  to  now  become  a  detailed  statement,  with  the  old  gentle 
man,  and  of  course  was  somewhat  familiar  with  the  facts  to 
be  related.  He  regarded  the  story  as  somewhat  interesting, 
besides,  he  desired  the  statement  for  publication  so  as  to 
thereby  aid  his  friend  in  his  great  and  only  object,  the  dis 
covery  of  and  restoration  to  his  family,  if  the  same  were 
possible. 

"Now,  my  friend,  we  are  ready  for  your  story,"  said  But 
ler  to  the  old  gentleman.  "Take  your  time,  and  whenever 
I  think  you  do  not  make  a  full  and  explicit  statement  of  a 
fact,  or  from  which  I  can  not  gather  the  full  import,  I  will 
take  the  liberty  of  interrogating  you.  You  may  proceed." 

The  old  gentleman  leaned  back  in  his  big  reclining  chair, 
closed  his  eyes,  and  began: 

"Permit  me  to  preface  my  story  with  the  statement  that 
I  realize  my  days  upon  earth  are  few,  and  that  my  great 
desire  is  to  discover  my  son,  if  he  be  yet  living.  My  story 
shall  be  short,  though,  perhaps,  sad,  as  viewed  from  the 
standpoint  of  common  humanity,  for  I  have  suffered  many 
years  of  hardship  and  privation,  during  most  of  which  time 
death  would  have  been  fax  more  preferable.  Yet,  through 
it  all,  one  ray  of  hope  sprang  eternally  from  my  breast  and, 
no  doubt,  prevented  self-destruction. 

306 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

"That  hope  was  to  escape  the  barriers  which  held  me,  that 
I  might  find  my  wife  and  boy. 

"The  beginning  of  my  story  dates  back  to  my  early  man 
hood.  I  was  but  a  strip  of  a  boy,  barely  out  of  my  teens. 
My  father  had  fallen  in  battle,  fighting  for  the  Stars  and 
Stripes.  My  only  brother  had  also  sacrificed  his  life  upon 
the  altar  of  his  country's  cause.  My  mother  and  myself 
were  all  that  were  left  of  our  family,  and  the  loss  of  her  hus 
band  and  son  so  preyed  upon  her  mind  and  body  that  she, 
too,  soon  passed  to  the  spirit  world,  while  I,  alone,  remained. 

"I  cared  little  what  became  of  me.  There  was  a  call  for 
volunteers,  and  I  determined  to  sacrifice  my  life,  if  need  be, 
as  nothing  had  been  left  me  for  which  to  live.  I  was  re 
jected  by  the  examining  board.  A  neighbor,  who  had  been 
drafted  to  serve  in  the  army,  and  who  had  considerable 
money  and  political  influence,  came  to  me  and  offered  me 
one  thousand  dollars  if  I  would  go  to  war  as  his  substitute, 
assuring  me  that  he  could  have  me  accepted  by  the  exam 
ining  board.  I  accepted  the  offer,  and,  after  all  arrange 
ments  were  completed  and  I  had  been  accepted  as  the  sub 
stitute,  I  was  sent  to  the  front.  After  my  first  battle,  I 
began  to  ask  myself  many  questions.  I  wondered  whether 
I  was  a  real  soldier,  fighting  for  my  country,  or  whether 
I  was  a  cold  blooded,  hired  assassin.  I  knew,  or  I  thought 
I  knew,  that  I  had  killed  at  least  one  man  in  the  first  battle. 
I  then  questioned  whether  that  one  man  was  not  worth  more 
than  one  thousand  dollars  for  which  I  had  sold  my  services. 
The  thought  became  revolting  to  my  mind.  My  conscience,  my 
very  soul  rebelled  at  the  infamy  of  my  position,  but  I  was 
bound  with  fetters  stronger  than  steel.  Desert?  That  meant 
death,  if  caught.  In  my  mind  there  was  no  doubt  that  I 

307 


NORKOMA 

had  killed  one  man  and,  perhaps,  many  more  in  the  only 
battle  in  which  I  had  thus  far  heen  engaged,  and  I  dared 
not  commit  suicide  with  such  stains  upon  my  soul.  I  real 
ized  that  I  was  no  more  nor  less  than  a  purchased  assassin, 
hired  by  a  human  coward  to  go  out  and  slay  my  fellowman  in 
cold  blood  for  a  monied  consideration.  Yes,  in  cold  blood, 
for  I  was  not  engaged  in  the  cause  on  my  own  account,  lie- 
cause  I  had  been  rejected.  There  was  no  relief,  no  hope 
for  me.  I  had  been  entrapped,  ensnared,  and  led  into  this 
awful  business  of  crime  by  one  of  my  father's  friend?.  My 
father,  mother  and  brother  had  all  perished,  and  I,  dupe 
and  fool  that  I  was,  could  not  even  take  revenge  on  my  own 
account,  for  I  was  the  slave  of  a  man  who  was  too  cowardly 
to  fight  for  himself. 

"This  condition  of  affairs  made  my  burdens  almost  too 
hard  for  me  to  bear.  At  last,  I  conceived  a  plan  that  gave 
me  a  ray  of  comfort,  a  spark  of  hope,  a  shadow  of  relief.  I 
resolved  that  I  would  kill  no  more.  I  would  remain  at  my 
post  of  duty,  and  I  would  be  a  soldier  to  the  core,  but  I  would 
not  kill  until  I  was  enabled  to  do  so  upon  my  own  account. 
I  went  through  several  battles  after  that,  but  I  am  certain  that 
I  was  not  guilty  of  killing  anyone,  as  a  hired  assassin. 

"We  were  in  Southern  Tennessee,  and  had  been  there  for 
some  time.  In  one  of  my  various  foraging  expeditions,  I 
saw  a  sweet,  angelic-faced  girl,  or  young  lady  that  she  was, 
whose  beauty  and  charm  so  fascinated  me  that  in  a  few  days 
I  began  to  care  little  whether  my  existence  on  earth  were  cut 
short  or  extended.  The  picture  of  that  sweet  face,  of  that 
lithe,  slender,  willowy  form,  remained  before  my  vision, 
whether  asleep  or  awake.  I  had  never  been  in  love.  I  did 
not  know  what  love  was.  I  did  not  know  that  I  was  then 

308 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

in  love  with  this  beautiful  girl,  but  I  wanted  to  see  her, 
to  be  with  her,  to  take  her  in  my  arms  and  plant  a  thousand 
kisses  upon  her  ruby  lips,  and  then,  if  need  be,  to  die.  But 
I  had  not  become  acquainted  with  her,  and,  knowing  her  to 
be  a  lady  accustomed  to  the  forms  of  social  etiquette,  there 
appeared  little  favor  for  my  prospective  suit.  However,  there 
seems  to  always  have  been,  for  such  intense  love  as  I  bore 
to  the  young  lady,  a  means  and  a  method  for  making  that 
love  known  and  felt.  So  it  was  in  my  case,  and,  in  time,  it 
proved  mutual  and  effective.  We  married,  and  there  was 
born  to  us  a  son.  It  was  as  pretty  a  little  babe  as  human 
eyes  ever  feasted  upon.  Then  the  future  welfare  of  the 
mother  and  son  became  the  one  great  object  of  my  life.  They 
were  all  that  the  world  held  dear  to  me,  and  I  resolved  to 
foster  and  protect  them,  as  my  best  judgment  and  conscience 
should  direct." 

"Pardon  me,  my  friend,"  interrupted  Butler,  "but  I  fear 
your  story  is  not  sufficiently  specific  as  to  how  and  when 
you  left  the  ranks  of  the  Federal  army,  so  as  to  court,  marry 
and  protect  the  beautiful  young  lady.  Did  you  finally  de 
sert?*' 

"I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion,  Mr  .Butler.  While  I  have 
but  a  short  time  to  live  on  earth,  I  do  not  want  my  son,  if 
he  be  found,  to  rest  under  the  suspicion  that  his  father  had 
been  a  deserter  from  the  army.  No,  I  did  not  desert.  I 
served  out  my  time  as  a  substitute,  but,  before  the  time  ex 
pired,  my  employer  had  again  been  drafted,  the  draft  to  be 
come  effective  upon  the  expiration  of  the  sixty  days  of  ser 
vice  which  I  was  rendering.  He  besought  me  to  renew  my 
contract.  Having  become  somewhat  acquainted  with  the 
uncertain  methods  by  which  certain  things  were  done  in 

309 


NORKOMA 

the  army,  I  suggested  to  his  agent  and  to  the  officers  in 
charge  that  upon  the  expiration  of  my  time  I  would  either 
enlist  on  my  own  account  or  would  accept  service  as  a  sub 
stitute.  This  apparently  pacified  both  the  agent  and  the 
officers,  but  I  had,  in  fact,  no  such  intentions.  I  learned 
from  a  comrade,  who  had  overheard  a  conversation  between 
the  officer  and  the  agent,  that,  if  I  refused  to  renew  my  con 
tract  of  service  as  a  substitute,  I  would  be  drafted  into  the  ser 
vice  anyhow,  and  by  that  means  enforced  to  act  as  a  substitute 
for  my  father's  former  friend.  On  the  day  of  the  expiration  of 
my  service,  we  were  marching  far  to  the  east  to  join  in  some 
campaign.  During  the  march,  I  became  lost  from  the  main 
part  of  the  detachment  and  drifted  off  up  into  a  mountain 
ous  part  of  the  country,  all  by  myself.  It  was  after  twelve 
o'clock  at  night,  on  the  day  of  the  expiration  of  my  contract 
ed  services,  when  I  became  lost  from  my  detachment,  al 
though  my  services  legally  ceased  at  high  noon  on  that 
day. 

"I  saw  no  good  reason  to  become  excited.  I  had  lost  all 
love  for  soldiering  as  a  substitute,  so  I  remained  lost  up  in 
the  hills  for  several  days  before  finding  my  way  out.  When 
I  did  discover  my  whereabouts,  I  was  not  far  from  the  home 
of  my  little  angel.  Xo  matter  then,  if  my  soul  had  been  on 
fire  with  the  trumpet  blast,  the  clanking  saber,  or  the  rattle 
of  musketry,  the  other  flame,  the  flame  of  love  for  my  little 
angel,  with  whom  I  had  never  become  acquainted,  should 
have  consumed  all  else. 

"So,  having  completed  my  service  and  being  entitled  to 
an  honorable  discharge,  but  which  would  have  been  denied 
me  through  the  connivance  and  cowardice  of  officer  and 
friend,  I  asserted  my  manhood,  relieved  my  conscience,  and 

310 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

won  the  love  of  the  sweetest  and  dearest  creature  it  had 
ever  been  my  good  fortune  to  know.  Whether  my  conduct 
shall  be  justified  by  human  critics,  I  know  not,  nor  care 
I  but  little,  except  for  the  fact  that  no  man  shall  say 
of  my  son,  that  his  father  ever  deserted  his  post  of  duty  as 
a  soldier.  I  hope  I  have  made  that  point  clear,  Mr.  Butler." 

"Certainly,  perfectly  clear." 

"Knowing,  however,  that  I  would  be  in  danger  from 
both  sides  of  the  conflicting  forces,  it  became  necessary  for 
me  to  play  my  part  in  the  drama,  so  as  to  save  my  life  and 
preserve  my  freedom  of  action.  Then,  to  win  the  love  of 
my  angel  and,  afterward,  protect  her  and  our  child.  For  a 
while  I  was  successful,  but  the  time  came  when  ill  fortune 
overtook  me.  It  became  necessary,  for  the  safety  and  com 
fort  of  wife  and  babe,  to  remove  them  into  the  Northern 
country,  and,  though  it  was  a  very  dangerous  undertaking 
upon  my  part,  I  managed  very  well  for  a  time.  I  gave  direc 
tions  to  the  wife  how  to  proceed  through  the  lines  to  Cin 
cinnati,  Ohio,  and,  once  there,  she  would  find  safety  and 
the  comforts  of  a  home,  with  friends.  I  was  to  embrace  the 
first  opportunity  to  follow  with  our  babe,  so  as  to  make 
sure  of  its  safety. 

'•'The  opportunity  never  came.  I  was  cut  off  from  my  re 
treat  and  was  compelled  to  dodge  from  place  to  place,  al 
ways  moving  southward  and  eastward,  finally  falling  in  the 
very  front  advance  of  Sherman's  raiders  in  their  famous 
march  to  the  sea.  There  was  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  keep 
in  their  front,  advance  with  all  possible  speed,  and  finally 
jump  into  the  ocean,  if  necessary.  It  was  my  only  means, 
as  I  thought,  of  safety,  and  I  adopted  it.  It  resulted,  how 
ever,  in  a  fate  more  cruel  than  death.  I  could  not  divine 

311 


NORKOMA 

the  objective  point  of  Sherman's  army,  so,  when  reaching 
a  point  near  the  great  cypress  swamps  in  Florida,  I  fell  in 
with  a  stranger  who  was  in  somewhat  similar  straits,  and  we 
became  friends.  We  proceeded  along  the  western  side  of 
the  swamps  for  a  great  distance  until  we  came  to  what  we 
thought  was  the  Gulf  shore,  but  which  we  observed  was  full 
of  islands/' 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Butler,  "those  are  what  are  known  as 
the  Ten  Thousand  Islands." 

"Well,  to  proceed  with  my  story,  neither  of  us  knew  when 
nor  where  we  would  be  free  from  capture,  and,  preferring 
death  to  capture,  my  friend  suggested  that  we  prepare  our 
selves  for  a  long  respite  within  the  Everglades  which  lay 
near  at  hand.  I  had  no  knowledge  of  the  Everglades  what 
ever,  and  it  later  proved  that  my  comrade  was  little  better 
informed  upon  the  subject.  We  wandered  around  for  days 
along  the  broken  and  irregular  coast  line  until  we  came  upon 
a  small  river  or  stream  that  had  its  source  in  the  direction 
of  the  Glades.  Fortunately,  we  were  each  in  possession  of 
a  good  rifle,  pistol,  knives  and  other  equipment  necessary  to 
the  hunter  or  other  person  who  must  subsist  upon  what  he 
finds  in  his  trackless  path.  From  the  wreckage  scattered 
along  the  shore  and  around  the  many  islands,  we  were  not 
long  in  supplying  ourselves  with  whatever  we  needed  to  rig 
out  a  respectable  camping  outfit.  Among  the  flotsam,  we 
recovered  a  couple  of  small  skiffs  that  had  been  washed 
ashore  from  some  wrecked  boat,  and  these  were  appropriated, 
proving  most  serviceable.  After  cruising  around  for  several 
days  among  the  small  islands,  most  of  which  seemed  to  be 
floating  islands,  we  started  up  the  small  stream  to  which  I 
have  referred.  To  our  surprise  and  delight,  after  wo  had 

312 


gone  but  a  short  distance,  we  came  upon,  some  rapids,  where 
clear,  cool,  fresh,  crystal  waters  dashed  and  played  over 
the  rocks.  We  dragged  our  boats  up  over  the  rapids,  and, 
finding  it  so  pleasant,  we  camped  by  the  bank  of  the  crystal 
stream.  Here  we  stayed  for  several  days,  resting  and  pre 
paring  for  our  further  journey  inward  toward  the  unknown 
Everglades. 

"After  we  had  prepared  ourselves  and  had  obtained  the 
much  needed  rest,  we  started  on  our  cruise  along  an  unknown 
stream  to  unknown  points,  and  with  but  one  object  in  view: 
security  from  official  interference.  Passing  along  the  ever 
narrowing  confines  of  the  stream,  occasionally  we  stopped  to 
spear  a  fish  or  kill  a  terrapin  for  our  next  meal.  We  finally 
came  out  into  a  broad  expanse,  to  the  end  of  which,  in  every 
direction,  the  eye  could  not  reach.  It  appeared  to  be  a  vast 
plane,  level  as  a  floor,  but  with  no  limit  except  the  horizon, 
a*nd  covered  with  a  tall,  three-cornered  grass,  the  edges  of 
which  resembled  the  teeth  of  a  saw. 

"Of  course,  there  was  no  necessity  to  go  farther  into  the 
sea  of  tall  grass,  so  we  set  about  to  return  to  our  old  camp 
ing  place  and  there  erect  permanent  headquarters.  Night 
came  upon  us  ere  we  knew  it,  and  with  the  night  came  the 
most  terrific  storm  I  ever  witnessed.  The  earth  shook  and 
trembled,  the  lightning  flashed,  the  thunder  pealed,  and, 
'midst  lightning  flashes,  we  observed  the  rapid  rise  of  the 
waters.  Then  seaward,  we  noticed  a  high  bank  of  waters 
rolling  upon  us.  We  each  clung  to  our  frail  crafts  with  the 
dread  of  doom  upon  us.  We  were  gently  raised  with  our 
skiffs  above  the  surrounding  growth  of  trees  and  bushes, 
picked  up  by  the  raging  storm  and  carried,  half  sensible,  we 
knew  not  whither.  We  were,  of  course,  separated,  and  I 

313 


NORKOMA 

saw  my  friend  and  comrade  no  more.  I  became  stunned 
and  unconscious,  but  must  have  held  on  to  my  little  boat 
with  a  death  grip,  for,  when  consciousness  returned,  I  found 
myself  still  in  the  boat,  but  landed  high  and  dry  upon  an 
island  far  out  in  the  dreaded  Everglades,  with  tall  grass 
surrounding  me. 

"Upon  examination  of  my  effects,  all  were  intact  and 
safely  preserved,  but  there  I  was,  God  only  knew  how  far 
from  the  aid  of  human  hands,  death  by  starvation  staring 
me  in  the  face.  I  had  not  long  to  wait,  however,  until  1 
was  awakened  to  the  realization  of  the  fact  that  I  was  not 
the  sole  inhabitant  of  the  island.  Almost  before  I  could 
realize  the  situation,  I  was  surrounded  by  a  dozen  or  more 
barbarous  savages.  They  were  half  clad  with  the  skins  of 
animals,  and  carried  wicked  looking  clubs  and  spears.  They 
circled  around  and  around  my  little  craft,  chanting  and 
going  through  many  queer  and,  to  me,  wholly  unintelligible 
orgies,  constantly  repeating  the  words,  'Hat-ka-tee^  es-tee.  mjc- 
co-orlee  a-pato-ya/  which,  I  afterwards  learned,  meant  'white 
man  chief.' 

"Having  ridden  in  my  chariot  upon  the  winds,  and  land 
ing  where  the  foot  of  white  man  had  never  trod,  the  ignor 
ant  and  childlike  aborigines  believed  me  to  have  been  the 
representative  of  the  Great  Spirit,  and  the  demonstrations 
by  them  made  upon  discovering  me  were  demonstrations  of 
love  and  obedience  to  my  wishes,  whatever  the  same  might 
be.  I  did  not,  at  first,  appreciate  the  real  situation,  be 
lieving  that  I  was  to  be  immediately  devoured.  I  therefore 
picked  up  my  rifle  and  began  looking  for  the  big  chief  of 
the  band,  thinking  I  would  settle  accounts  with  him  first.  At 
the  sight  of  my  rifle,  the  whole  band  fell  upon  their  knee? 

314 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

and  bowed  their  heads  unto  the  ground,  still  chanting  their 
plaintive,  though,  unmelodious,  song.  Then  I  began  to  real 
ize  the  situation.  I  felt  my  power  and  influence  over  my 
new-found  but  strange  and  hideous  companions.  I  arose 
to  my  full  height  and,  with  uplifted  hands,  proclaimed  peace 
unto  them.  They  evidently  caught  the  meaning,  for  they  be 
gan  a  more  lively  circle  dance,  while  an  expression  of  pleas 
ure  and  joy  spread  over  their  faces.  Then  came  forth  from 
a  cluster  of  bashes  near  at  hand  a  tall,  gaunt  figure,  clothed 
in  a  full,  long  robe  of  white  otter  skins,  bearing  a  large 
pipe  or  calumet.  Approaching  to  within  a  few  feet  of  my 
boat,  he  took  a  long  draw  at  the  calumet  and,  pointing  the 
stem  upward,  raised  it  arm-length  three  times.  Then  facing 
the  east,  puffed  some  smoke  upward  from  his  mouth.  Turn 
ing  to  the  westward,  he  repeated  the  performance.  He  then 
handed  me  the  calumet  and,  nodding,  said,  'Eh-cho-chc/ 
meaning  to  smoke.  Knowing  something  of  the  customs  of 
the  American  Indians,  and  preferring  peace  to  war  under 
the  circumstances,  I  went  through  the  same  performance  as 
had  done  the  big  white  prophet,  whereupon  I  returned  the 
pipe  and  extended  my  open  hand,  which  he  clasped  with 
his  own,  the  other  members  of  the  band  continuing  their 
dancing  and  incantations. 

"But  I  fear  my  story  grows  wearisome,"  said  the  old  gen 
tleman. 

"Xot  at  all,"  replied  Butler.  "Upon  the  contrary,  I  fear 
you  will  finish  all  too  soon.  It  is  absorbingly  interesting 
to  me,  and,  since  the  world  knows  so  little  of  the  Everglades 
of  Florida,  your  story  partakes  of  a  historical  interest,  which 
will,  no  doubt,  be  valuable  on  that  account,  if  for  no  other 
reason." 

315 


NORKOMA 

"In  a  short  time  the  local  inhabitants  of  the  island  and 
myself  became  good  friends.  I  recognized  the  importance 
of  my  power  over  them,  superinduced  by  their  belief  that 
I  partook  of  the  nature  of  a  man-god,  and  I  constantly  puz 
zled  my  brain  to  maintain  and  hold  my  exalted  position, 
which  I  successfully  did  to  the  end. 

''For  the  benefit  of  history  and  science,  I  will  state  that 
the  great  tract  of  territory  known  as  the  Everglades  is  mostly 
covered  by  fresh,  limpid  water,  rising  from  fissures  in  the 
rock  which  overlay  the  vast  area.  In  these  waters  abound 
fine  specimen  of  fish  of  a  variety  known  as  perch,  or  bass, 
and  grow  to  a  large  size.  There  are  also  to  be  found  otter, 
beaver  and  other  furred  animals.  Terrapin  and  frogs  of 
enormous  size  are  plentiful.  Xear  our  island  were  to  be 
found  unlimited  quantites  of  freshwater  oysters,  or  mussels, 
a  very  palatable  food  when  baked  or  boiled  within  the  shell. 
These  mussels  in  large  numbers  contain  most  valuable  pearls. 
The  collection  which  I  brought  out  from  tha  place  represents 
the  labor  of  many  years  in  collecting.  The  natives  use  the 
pearls  for  beads  and  also  as  a  coin  of  exchange  for  com 
modities,  which  practice  is  of  no  importance  to  them,  as 
all  the  property  and  possessions  upon  the  island  belong  to  the 
tribe  in  common.  I  was  king  and  ruler,  hence  I  was  per 
mitted  to  have  whatever  I  wanted,  and  my  will  was  the  law. 

"In  all  the  years  I  lived  upon  this  island  never  a  day 
passed,  except  one  day  out  of  seven,  that  my  effort  was  not 
continued  to  find  a  way  out  from  the  Glades.  Year  in  and 
year  out  the  work  was  kept  up,  but  our  progress  against  the 
terrible  saw  grass  was  almost  unnoticeable.  At  last  I  gave 
up  in  despair,  and  for  several  years  I  contented  myself  to  eat 
and  sleep,  and  for  recreation  would  hunt  otter  and  catch 

316 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

fish.  Of  coarse,,  we  raised  many  vegetables,  corn  ami  coffee. 
upon  our  desolate  holdings,  the  island  containing  about  one 
hundred  acres,  covered  with  a  rich,  alluvial  soil. 

"Finally,  a  drouth  came  that  appeared  to  dry  up  the  very 
fountains  of  the  earth.  The  water  disappeared  from  the  great 
flats  by  degrees,  until  they  seemed  as  dry  as  a  bone.  A 
strong  wind  began  raging  from  the  northeast,  giving  the 
appearance  of  a  change  of  weather.  My  chance  for  escape 
had  come.  I  went  to  the  west  side  of  the  island  and  set  fire 
to  the  dried  saw  grass.  What  a  blazing,  seething,  boiling 
hell  it  made.  The  first  flash  of  flame  leaped  and  bounded 
over  the  tall  grass  hundreds  of  feet  a  second,  as  if  it  were 
covered  with  powder.  Then  it  was  followed  by  the  roaring, 
crackling,  burning  of  the  stalks  that  were  as  so  many 
splinters  of  fat  pine.  On  and  on  it  swept,  the  heavens  filling 
with  billows  of  blackness,  against  which  shone  the  bright, 
lapping,  curling  flames  of  fire  which  shot  high  into  the 
air,  resembling  the  forked  tongues  of  monster  serpents.  On 
and  on  it  went  toward  the  Gulf,  and  I  comforted  myself 
with  the  thought  that  this,  my  passageway  to  freedom,  was 
certainly  more  spectacular,  if  less  harmful,  than  was  Sher 
man's  march  to  the  sea,  which  had  driven  me  to  this  ac 
cursed  spot. 

"That  night  the  rain  came,  but  gently.  It  was  the  fore 
runner,  however,  of  a  storm  that  followed  a  few  days  later. 
Having  made  due  preparations  for  my  departure,  the  next 
morning  I  selected  two  of  the  strongest  young  braves  and 
bade  them  accompany  me,  promising  to  show  them  the  won 
ders  of  'Indian  Heaven/  leaving  the  impression  upon  the 
others  that  we  would  return  at  night,  or  within  two  suns. 

"Taking  such  tools,  provisions  and  other  things  as  might 

317 


NORKOMA 

possibly  be  needed,  secretly  including  my  stock  of  pearls, 
we  set  out  on  foot,  proceeding  in  the  direction  and  course 
followed  by  the  fire.  By  nightfall  we  found  ourselves  upon 
the  source  of  a  small  stream,  which  I  thought  was  the 
same  stream  or  river  by  which  I  had  originally  entered  the 
Glades.  The  next  morning,  being  footsore  and  tired,  I  sent 
my  companions  on  ahead  to  some  timber,  hoping  to  find  a 
tree  sufficiently  large  of  which  to  make  a  dugout,  that  I 
might  raft  down  the  little  stream.  After  a  long  absence, 
they  returned  and  informed  me  that  they  had  found  what 
was  wanted. 

"We  proceeded  along  the  narrow  channel  until  nearly 
noon,  when  the  stream  became  wider  and  deeper,  and  the  cur 
rent  swifter.  We  came  upon  a  couple  of  skiffs,  and, 
stopping,  wondered  to  whom  they  could  belong.  In  them 
there  were  provisions  that  gave  evidence  of  recent  owner 
ship.  We  went  out  over  the  burned  surface,  looking  for 
some  sign,  when,  suddenly,  we  beheld  the  charred  remains 
of  three  human  bodies,  all  lying  with  head  toward  the  stream, 
evidencing  the  fact  that  they  had  been  caught  by  the  cruel 
flames  ere  they  found  safety  in  their  boats.  We  appro 
priated  their  boats  and  effects  and  began  drifting  witli 
the  current,  I  in  one  boat,  and  my  two  companions  in  the 
other.  So  we  drifted  during  the  day  and  the  greater  por 
tion  of  the  night,  when  we  were  brought  face  to  face  with  a 
sweeping  gale  from  the  northeast,  which  rapidly  drove  our 
frail  crafts  out  into  what  appeared  to  be  a  broad  expanse 
of  water,  as  I  could  observe  from  the  lightning  flashes.  T 
realized  that  we  were  then  in  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  and  in 
the  presence  of  a  certain  death.  I  grabbed  the  leathern  bag 
of  pearls  and  strapped  it  to  my  body,  tying  it  with  thongs 

318 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  STORY 

so  as  to  make  it  safe.  I  already  had  a  leathern  belt  filled 
with  the  more  precious  pearls  strapped  around  my  body,  under 
my  clothing.  In  the  storm  our  boats  became  separated,  and 
what  became  of  my  companion  braves  I  never  knew.  On 
and  on  swept  the  storm  at  mighty  speed,  as  I  judged  in 
passing  the  many  islands.  I  lashed  myself  to  the  skiff,  for  I 
knew  that  I  must  lose  consciousness,  and  in  this  manner  my 
life  might  be  saved.  If  not,  perhaps  the  pearls  might  not 
be  lost  to  the  world  forever. 

"Then  all  became  a  blank  to  me,  until  I  was  brought  to 
life  and  consciousness  by  some  men  releasing  me  from  my 
moorings.  It  was  the  men  from  the  tramp  steamer  who 
rescued  me  and  brought  me  here.  With  the  remainder  of  my 
story  you .  are  familiar.  You  are  the  first  person,  except 
those  who  rescued  me  from  a  watery  grave,  who  had  the 
goodness  of  heart  to  take  an  interest  in  my  life,  and  I  can 
never  sufficiently  repay  you  for  all  your  goodness  to  me. 
Pardon  me,  I  am  growing  faint/' 

"There,  now,  my  friend,  you  must  rest  a  bit.  I  fear  you 
have  overtaxed  your  strength,"  said  Butler.  The  stenog 
rapher  was  dismissed  with  instructions  to  transcribe  his  notes 
and  to  give  information  concerning  the  same  to  no  one. 

When  the  old  gentleman  had  been  made  comfortable,  But 
ler  also  departed,  leaving  his  friend  alone  to  dream  over 
again  and  again  the  sweets  of  a  life  that  should  have  been 
his  but  for  cruel  misfortune. 


319 


NORKOMA 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 
A  FRUITLESS  MISSION. 

When  the  story  of  the  strange  old  man  had  been  reduced 
to  a  neatly  typewritten  form,  Butler  conferred  with  LeBerte 
Marchand,  as  had  been  agreed,  and  together  the  two  men 
read  it  over  hurriedly. 

"Well,  Butler/'  said  Marchand,  "I  thank  you  for  the  cour 
tesy  thus  shown  me  in  this  matter.  I  did  not  know  but  that  T 
might  possibly  have  a  special  interest  in  the  history  of  thie 
old  man,  and  of  which  I  may  later  speak  to  you.  Had  this 
man  been  a  soldier  in  the  Southern  army,  it  would  have 
been  of  much  more  interest  to  me,  and  I  am  glad  it  has 
turned  out  as  it  has.  However,  if  you  have  no  particular  use 
for  this  paper,  I  should  like  to  retain  it." 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Marchand,  it  is  but  a  copy;  I  have  the 
original.  The  old  gentleman  spoke  about  making  his  will. 
I  suppose  you  do  not  care  to  do  that,  do  you?" 

"No,  you  may  as  well  call  up  Walton,  who  will  attend  to 
the  matter.  I  shall  not  go  to  my  office  for  a  few  days,  as 
I  am  not  well,  neither  are  my  services  required  there." 

"Certainly ;  I  will  have  the  matter  attended  to,  however,  so 
that  you  need  not  bother  about  it.  I  presume  Walter  will 
be  coming  home  in  a  few  days  now?" 

"Yes,  he  so  wrote  us,  and  he  further  intimated  that  he 

320 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

uoiild  probably  make  his  future  home  in  Texas.  I  hope 
he  and  .Dorothy  have  taken  kindly  to  each  other." 

"I  think  they  have,  Mr.  Marchand.  Of  course,  I  am  not 
certain." 

"Well,  it  is  to  be  hoped  they  have." 

When,  during  the  day,  Marchand  sat  on  the  gallery  of  the 
fine  old  home,  enjoying  the  balmy  breezes,  the  typewritten 
statement  in  his  hand,  he  fell  asleep,  the  paper  falling  to  the 
floor.  By  and  by  the  wind  carried  it  off  the  gallery  and 
around  the  corner  of  the  house,  where  it  was  picked  up  by 
one  of  the  servants  and  handed  to  Edith,  who  began  read 
ing  it.  Ere  she  had  read  a  great  portion  of  it,  the  expression 
of  her  countenance  indicated  much  interest,  then  excitement, 
and  finally,  great  trepidation.  She  ran  to  her  mother,  who 
was  in  the  parlor,  engaged  with  some  household  duty,  saying : 

"Oh,  mother,  the  servants  found  this  paper  in  the  grounds 
and  handed  it  to  me.  I  have  read  part  of  it,  and  it  sounds 
so  much  like  the  story  you  once  told  me  about  your  first  hus 
band  that  I  became  fearful.  Please  read  it.  There  is  no 
telling  what  great  calamity  might  yet  happen." 

The  mother  began  reading  the  statement  hastily,  the 
color  rising  and  falling  upon  her  face,  indicating  excitement, 
until  at  last  the  poor  woman  gave  a  scream  of  fright  and 
fell  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon.  The  house  was  in  an  uproar 
within  a  short  time,  the  servants  hurrying  about  to  bring  the 
husband  to  the  scene.  Marchand  saw  the  paper,  still  clutched 
in  the  hand  of  the  unconscious  wife,  and  he  took  possession 
of  it,  saying  to  Edith : 

"How  did  that  paper  fall  into  her  hands?" 

"I  handed  it  to  her  to  read,  for  I  feared — " 

"Tut,  tut,  silence !    How  came  you  in  possession  of  it  ?" 

321 


NORKOMA 

"One  of  the  servants  found  it  out  in  the  grounds  and 
brought  it  to  me." 

"It  must  have  blown  out  of  my  hand  while  I  slept  in  my 
chair.  There  is  no  cause  for  fright ;  there  is  no  necessity  for 
excitement.  Let  us  quiet  your  mother's  fears  and  give  her 
assurances  that  all  is  well." 

Mrs.  Marchand  was  tenderly  laid  upon  a  couch,  restora 
tives  applied,  and  after  a  few  moments  she  regained  con 
sciousness,  but  remained  weak  and  nervous  from  the  effect? 
of  the  shock  and  fright. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  mother,"  said  Edith,  "for  father  de 
clares  that  the  paper  was  one  which  he  himself  had,  and  it 
dropped  from  his  hands  when  he  fell  asleep  out  on  the  gal 
lery.  There,  now,  rest  easy,  my  good  mother,  you  have  no 
cause  for  fear  whatever." 

"How  did  your  father  come  into  the  possession  of  that 
paper  ?" 

"I  do  not  know,  I  am  sure,  but  there  is  nothing  strange 
or  startling  about  it,  since  I  come  to  think  of  it.  Fve  read 
a  hundred  stories  like  that  in  the  papers.  It  does  not  fit  your 
case,  mother." 

"Indeed,  child,  the  part  of  it  relating  to  my  passing 
through  the  lines  to  Cincinnati  is  identical  with  my  case." 

"But,  mother,  there  were  thousands  of  such  cases.  I  am 
told  that  a  great  many  Southern  ladies  were  sent  to  the 
North  during  the  war  for  their  own  protection  and  com 
fort,  and  certainly  there  must  be  many  cases  with  exactly 
similar  incidents  and  facts.  You  must  not  worry,  mother 
dear.  Father  bids  you  rest  easy,  and  you  know  he  would 
not  so  advise  you  if  there  were  any  danger.  Now.  that  is  a 
good  mother,  and  after  you  have  some  sleep  and  rest,  we  will 

322 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

take  a  drive.  It  is  such  a  lovely  day.  I'll  close  the  door, 
mother,  so  you  shall  not  be  disturbed." 

Edith  passed  on  out  upon  the  gallery,  where  her  father 
was  sitting,  and  found  him  reading  over  again  the  typewrit 
ten  statement. 

"There  is  nothing  in  this  story  to  indicate  that  John 
Hayes  was  the  former  husband  of  your  mother.  We  must 
quiet  her  and  have  her  forget  that  she  ever  had  any  other 
husband  but  myself." 

"I  am  glad  of  your  assurances,  father,  and  I  will  do  alJ 
that  I  can  to  make  her  forget  it  all." 

When  Butler  left  the  work  at  his  office  to  call  upon  John 
Hayes,  he  began  pondering  over  the  old  man's  story,  and 
recollected  that  it  lacked  detail  with  relation  to  the  disposi 
tion  made  of  the  child  at  the  time  the  wife  was  sent  North 
to  Cincinnati  by  the  young  husband.  It  would  prove  a  much 
easier  task  to  trace  the  whereabouts  of  the  son,  were  fuller 
details  given  as  to  what  disposition  the  father  made  of  the 
babe,  and,  if  it  were  possible,  the  same  must  be  procured. 

"Now,  Mr.  Hayes,  before  we  proceed  with  our  other  mat 
ters  of  business,  I  would  like  you  to  give  me  a  clear  state 
ment  of  your  movements,  and  what  disposition  you  made  of 
your  babe,  at  the  time  you  sent  your  wife  through  the  lines 
to  the  ISTorth.  You  say  you  were  to  follow  her,  bringing 
the  babe,  at  the  first  opportunity?" 

"Let  me  think,"  said  the  old  man,  drawing  his  hand  acros? 
his  brow.  "Yes,  I  was  to  follow  by  a  more  westerly  route, 
so  as  to  avoid  the  armies.  Well,  the  opportunity  for  a  suc 
cessful  escape  never  came.  My  plans  failed,  for  I  was  forced 
to  seek  seclusion.  When  I  reached  Memphis,  I  was  compelled 
to  leave  my  babe  with  an  old  negro  woman  in  whom  I  felt 

323 


NORKOMA 

I  could  place  implicit  confidence.  I  gave  her  plenty  of 
money  and  instructed  her  fully  how  and  where  to  reach  the 
mother  of  the  child,  knowing  that  when  the  old  colored  wo 
man  found  her,  the  mother  would  understand  the  situation. 
Then  I  quickly  sought  safety  by  starting  for  my  retreat  and 
hiding  place  back  in  the  hills,  to  await  a  more  favorable  op 
portunity  for  my  escape  through  the  lines. 

"But,  as  I  said  before,  I  was  cut  off,  and  then  followed 
my  enforced  retreat  to  the  dismal  swamps.  Of  course,  T 
have  never  seen  nor  heard  of  either  my  wife  or  child  since  that 
sad  day." 

efYon  left  your  son  with  an  old  negro  woman  in  the  City 
of  Memphis,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  I  could  do  nothing  else.  Of  course,  I  was  dressed 
in  a  Southern  soldier's  uniform,  and  might  have  left  the 
child  with  a  white  family,  but  I  wanted  the  babe  carried 
North  to  its  mother,  so  I  procured  the  services  of  an  old 
negro  woman." 

"What  was  the  old  darky's  name?" 

<fl  cannot  recollect.  In  memory  I  can  see  the  little  old 
cabin  where  she  lived,  but  her  name  is  lost  to  mind.  If  I 
could  go  upon  the  spot,  I  think  it  would  all  return  to  my 
mind." 

"That  you  shall  do,  just  as  soon  as  we  can  arrange  your 
affairs.  What  was  your  name  under  which  you  married?" 

"I  am  not  positive,  but  I  think  it  was  Wilkoma  Olcott.  Of 
course,  that  was  not  my  true  name,  for  I  was  fearful  of 
the  officers  of  the  army  discovering  me,  so  I  employed  that 
name." 

"Do  you  remember  the  name  of  your  son?" 

"Oh,  yes,   I  shall  never  forget  it.     My  wife's   Christian 

334 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

name  was  Norma,  and  my  Christian  name  being  Wilkoma^ 
we  appropriated  a  part  of  each  name,  giving  to  our  son  the 
name  of  Norkoma.  We  did  that  because,  our  respective 
families  being  wiped  out  by  the  cruel  war,  we  had  no  one 
for  whom  our  son  could  be  a  namesake,  so  we  appropriated 
part  of  our  own  names." 

"That  was  rather  a  novel  idea,"  said  Butler. 

"Yes;  the  mother  of  invention,  they  say,  is  necessity,  and 
this  was  a  case  of  necessity.  I  request  of  you,  Mr.  Butler, 
to  not  make  known  the  facts  of  my  story  until  we  find  my 
wife  and  son,  or  until  I  am  dead  and  passed  away.  Will  you 
do  me  that  favor?" 

"I  will,  Mr.  Hayes.  However,  in  making  your  last  will 
and  testament,  you  will  be  required  to  employ  both  your 
own  name,  Olcott,  and  your  other  name,  Hayes,  in  order  to 
make  same  fully  understood.  Your  affidavit  to  the  state 
ment,  or  life  story,  may  be  attached  to  the  will,  to  be  read 
and  made  public,  in  case  of  your  death.  I  have  arranged 
for  Mr.  Walton,  partner  of  Mr.  Walter  Marchand,  to  come 
and  write  your  will  this  afternoon.  I  will  caution  him  about 
secrecy  in  the  matter,  and  you  should  be  perfectly  frank  in 
matters  with  him.  I  have  arranged,  as  you  suggested,  to 
have  those  pearls  transformed  into  money,  and  our  agent 
has  gone  to  New  York  to  consult  about  the  same.  He  will 
return  tomorrow.  If  anything  occurs  that  you  need  me, 
send  for  me.  I  will  see  you  this  evening." 

"Before  we  get  matters  all  closed,  I  want  to  pay  both  you 
and  my  lawyers  for  the  great  services  you  have  rendered  me. 
I  wish  you  would  please  ascertain  and  let  me  know  the 
amount." 

"I.  have  ascertained   from  the  Marchands,   and  they  re- 

325 


NORKOMA 

fuse  to  render  a  bill,  saying  that  their  services  were  for  my 
account,  and  they  will  accept  nothing,  as  a  fee.  For  myself, 
I  have  made  no  charge  for  my  services;  all  expenses  were 
borne  by  funds  received  from  the  sale  of  pearls." 

"That  will  never  do.  Both  you  and  the  Marchands  must 
accept  a  reward  and  compensation." 

"We  will  discuss  the  matter  later.  Walton  will  be  here 
soon  to  write  your  will,  so  I  must  let  you  rest  a  bit.  Good 
day." 

A  few  days  later,  the  once  strange  old  man,  who  could 
neither  speak  nor  understand  a  word  of  his  native  tongue 
and  who  had  spent  the  better  part  of  his  life  in  the  undis 
covered  portion,  of  the  Everglades  of  Florida,  was  ready  to 
start  out  in  search  of  his  wife  and  son.  He  would  first 
go  to  Memphis,  thence  to  Cincinnati,  on  his  hopeful  mission. 
Before  going,  however,  he  reduced  his  fortune  of  pearls  to 
legal  tender  of  the  realm,  and  had  made,  constituted  and 
appointed  Joe  Butler  his  agent  and  attorney  in  fact,  with 
full  power  to  manage  and  control  the  same.  He  also  car 
ried  with  him  letters  of  instruction,  so  that  in  case  of  sick 
ness  or  accident,  Butler  should  be  notified  of  the  fact  with 
out  delay. 

Some  days  afterward,  Butler  received  a  letter  from  the 
old  gentleman,  dated  at  Memphis,  stating  that  he  had  lo 
cated  the  place  where  the  old  negro  woman  lived  at  the 
time  he  parted  with  his  child,  and  that  her  name  was  Aunt 
Dinah,  but  her  other  name  he  could  not  recollect.  One  of 
her  former  neighbors  is  still  living,  an  old  negro  man,  and 
he  had  said  that  several  years  after  the  war  Aunt  Dinah 
went  back  to  Alabama,  and  he  thought  she  took  the  boy 
with  her.  The  old  negro  remembered  Aunt  Dinah,  but  didn't 

326 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

recollect  her  full  name.  He  also  said  that  he  had  heard  that 
she  had  gone  from  Alabama  to  live  in  New  Orleans. 

"Now  that  is  strange,"  said  Butler  to  himself.  "It  is 
just  barely  possible  that  my  old  black  mammy  knows  some 
thing  about  the  old  negro  woman.  I'll  ask  her." 

When  opportunity  presented,  Butler  incidentally  asked  the 
old  colored  woman  if  she  had  ever  lived  in  Memphis. 

"Did  I  evah  live  in  Memphis?  I  guess  I  did.  Yes,  sah,  I 
did  dat  verah  thing." 

"When  did  you  live  there,  Auntie?" 

"I  lived  dar  durin'  de  wah,  an'  a  good  smart  while  aftah 
de  wah.  Why  yo'  ax  me?" 

"Never  mind  why  I  ask  you,  Auntie.  I  think  you  are 
liable  to  come  into  a  fortune,  perhaps." 

"What  yo'  say?  Umph,  from  dat  little  white  boy,  what  I 
done  raised?" 

"May  be  so.  Where  did  you  get  the  little  white  boy, 
Auntie  ?" 

"White  man  done  fling  him  to  me,  and  tole  me  to  take 
him  up  North." 

"How  big  was  the  boy  when  you  got  him?" 

"Jes  a  tee-ny  we-ny  baby.  I  had  to  raise  him  en  a  bottle. 
Dat's  what  I  had." 

"Do  you  remember  anything  about  the  baby  that  was  pe 
culiar,  or  by  which  he  might  be  identified  when  he  grew  up 
to  be  a  man?" 

"Yes  sah,  yes  sah,  Marse  Joe,  I  'member  a  heap.  Say, 
Marse  Joe,  what's  yo'  axin'  me  all  dem  questions  about  that 
li'l  baby  boy  fo  ?  I  jes  don't  cac'rlate  I'se  gwine  ter  git 
in  trouble,  is  I?" 

"Not  at  all;  not  if  you  tell  me  all  about  it.     If  you  tell 

327 


NORKOMA 

me  all  about  it,  I  will  see  that  you  are  taken  good  care  of 
as  long  as  you  live.  What  makes  you  fear  trouble?" 

"Because,  yo'  see,  I  done  sold  the  li'l  boy  to  a  rich  white 
man,  den  I  left  de  place  and  kem  to  my  old  marse's  over 
in  Alabamy.  Dat  was  when  yo'  was  a  li'l  boy  yo'sef." 

"Well,  what  do  you  remember  about  the  baby?" 

"Bat  babe  done  had  a  li'l  gold  locket  with  his  mother's 
picture  in  it,  and  her  name  was  on  de  locket." 

"What  was  the  name?" 

"I  jes  don't  rec'lect,  but  I  rec'lects  de  boy's  name.  It 
was  'Koma.  Yes,  dat's  it,  it  was  'Koma." 

"Do  you  mean  iSTorkoma?" 

"Yessah,  yessah,  Marse  Joe,  dat's  what  it  was.  How  yo' 
knows  dat  name?" 

"Oh,  well,  I  found  it  out.  But  say,  what  became  of  the 
man  who  gave  the  baby  to  you  ?" 

"Don't  know,  sah.  He  jes  axed  me  if  I'd  tek  dat  baby 
and  carry  it  up  North  to  some  place  or  other,  I  can't  rec'lect ; 
but  he  writ  out  a  lot  o'  stuff  and  said  it  was  the  d'rections. 
I  done  los'  de  papah,  and  den  I  couldn't  tek  de  baby  no  whah, 
so  I  jes  stayed  whah  I  wuz.  I  nevah  did  see  de  man  any 
mo'.  A  long  time  aftah  dat,  a  fine,  rich  white  man  kem 
along  and  sed  he  wuz  de  uncle  ob  dat  chile,  and  he  gin  me 
twenty  dollahs  fo'  de  keepin',  so  I  let  him  tek  de  baby,  de 
locket  an'  de  whole  kerpoodle.  Dat's  all  I  knows  'bout  it." 

"Well,  that  is  enough  for  my  purposes.  Are  you  sure  the 
boy  was  called  Norkoma?" 

"I  sho'  is.    Dat's  'xactly  what  it  was." 

"Now,  Auntie,  keep  still  about  this,-  and  say  nothing  until 
I  ask  you  more  about  it." 

328 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

"Dis  ole  niggah  ain't  no  fool,  Marse  Joe.  Don't  reckon 
I  done  kep'  still  'bout  dis  for  all  dese  yers,  and  spit  my 
stummick  out  o'  my  mouf  now,  does  yo'  ?" 

"I  guess  you'll  do  all  right,  Auntie." 

"Say,  Marse  Joe,  I  is  in  pow'ful  bad  need  o'  some  snuff. 
Yo'  ain't  got  a  quatah  loose  change,  has  yo'  ?" 

"Certainly,  Auntie,  I  always  have  some  change  for  you." 

"Bless  yo',  Marse  Joe,  bless  yo'.  Ain't  no  use  talkin',  de 
ole  marse  and  de  ole  marse's  son  sho'  knows  how  to  treat 
a  po'  ole  niggah  bettah  dan  dese  new  grown  up  folks.  Dat's 
what  dey  do." 

Butler  was  now  somewhat  excited,  for  he  believed,  in  fact, 
he  knew,  that  old  Aunt  Dinah  was  the  same  old  Aunt  Dinah 
who  had  taken  care  of  his  friend's  son. 

"But  what  became  of  the  son?"  mused  Butler.  "If  John 
Hayes  should  be  apprised  of  the  fact  that  the  old  negress  had 
not  even  attempted  to  carry  the  babe  to  its  mother,  as  he  had 
directed,  it  would  only  become  a  source  of  more  acute  anxiety, 
and  it  would  be  best,  perhaps,  to  not  inform  him  of  that  fact. 
Not  for  the  present,  at  least." 

Butler  could  not  disclose  any  further  facts  to  LeBerte 
Marchand,  for  he  had  promised  Hayes  he  would  keep  the 
secret  until  the  mother  and  son  were  discovered,  or  until 
he,  Hayes,  were  dead.  He  would  be  in  duty  bound  to  keep 
his  word  of  honor.  There  was  no  possibility  of  Marchand's 
knowing  anything  about  this  man,  for  he  was  a  Federal  sol 
dier. 

"Marchand  might  have  known  something  if  the  man  had 
been  a  Confederate  soldier,"  mused  Butler.  "So  Marchand 
said,  and  that  settled  the  question.  Who  could  have  been 
the  rich  white  man  that  said  he  was  the  uncle  of  Norkoma? 

329 


NORKOMA 

That  is  a  question.  He  might  have  been  any  one  of  a  mil 
lion  people — yes,  or  more.  Perhaps  he  was  some  South 
ern  man  who  had  lost  his  family  in  the  cruel  war.  Seeing 
the  child  had  no  home  except  with  ihe  negress,  he  took  the 
boy  and  adopted  him.  One  might  as  well  hunt  for  a  needle 
in  a  hay  stack  as  to  hope  to  find  Norkoma  in  sueh  event. 
Ah,  it  will,  I  fear,  prove  a  fruitless  task.  But  the  poor 
old  man  may  as  well  devote  the  balance  of  his  days  to  the 
work  of  love.  He  will  be  the  better  content  if  he  never 
know  the  facts  with  which  I  have  'this  day  become  acquaint 
ed.  Knowing  the  facts,  he  would  soon  realize  the  utter 
fruitlessness  of  his  task,  and  end  his  days  in  a  sorrow  that 
is  without  compensation  or  hope.  No,  I'll  not  inform  him, 
for,  with  hope  springing  constantly  within  his  breast,  it  will 
be  a  pleasant  task  for  him,  even  unto  the  day  of  his  death." 
Butler  had  now  reached  his  office,  and  the  subject  was  soon 
driven  from  his  mind  by  the  many  duties  and  cares  that  de 
volved  upon  him  there.  He  was  too  happy  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  Edith  Marchand  was  soon  to  become  his  wife. 
He  had  lived  in  silent  hope  for  a  long  time,  struggling  and 
toiling,  but  at  last  the  great  prize  was  to  be  his.  Now,  he 
had  good  cause  to  dream  of  a  happy  fireside  and  loved  ones 
about  him.  He  had  once  known  such  happiness,  but  for  a 
short  duration  only.  Now,  he  knew  better  how  to  employ 
all  the  means  possible  to  make  home  the  husband's  and 
wife's  haven  of  true  and  earthly  happiness.  His  sorrows  had 
mellowed  his  nature.  They  had  tempered  his  ambitions,  they 
had  been  as  a  holy  incense  burning  upon  the  altars  of  his 
soul.  Well,  the  happy  day  was  not  far  off,  and  others  there 
were,  as  anxious,  perhaps,  for  the  consummation  of  the 
matter  as  was  Butler. 

330 


A  FRUITLESS  MISSION 

While  Butler  was  busily  engaged  at  his  desk,  he  was  called 
up  by  'phone,  and,  responding,  was  surprised  no  little  to  hear 
a  sweet,  silvery  voice.  It  was  Edith.  After  the  usual  f  ormal- 
ities,  she  said: 

"Mr.  Butler,  father  requests  that  you  make  no  mention 
of  the  strange  story  of  John  Hayes.  He  gives  no  reasons, 
but  desires  that  you  do  not  make  it  public  as  yet.  Not  until 
he  has  a  conference." 

"Why  do  you  ask,  Edith?     You  seem  anxious?" 

"Well,  it  is  father's  wish,  and  he  is  feeling  rather  poorly, 
so  if  you  will  grant  it  I  shall  ;f eel  ever  so  grateful  to  you." 

"You  dear  little  angel,  I  would  be  tempted  to  close  down 
the  plant  and  never  print  another  paper,  if  you  so  requested." 

"Oh,  my,  what  a  fib !  You  are  becoming  a  little  extrava 
gant,  are  you  not?" 

"Well,  my  dear,  when  you  are  mine,  I'll  be  the  richest  man 
in  all  the  world.  I  can  afford  to  be  extravagant,  can't  I  ?" 

"Extravagance  is  an  evil,  you  know.  And  over  a  tele 
phone  it  is  sometimes  more  than  that." 

"Thank  you,  Edith,  for  the  suggestion.  Telephones  are 
a  convenience,  of  course,  but  a  perplexity  at  times.,  and  I 
think  I  could  do  better  in  person.  I  shall  call  at  'The  Cedars' 
this  evening,  if  I  may." 

"I  shall  be  delighted,  I  am  sure." 

During  the  afternoon,  Butler  received  another  letter  from 
Wilkoma  Olcott,  or  John  Hayes,  by  which  name  he  was 
more  familiarly  known  to  his  friends  in  New  Orleans.  The 
letter  bore  the  news  that  Olcott  had  been  unable  to  find  furth 
er  trace  of  old  Aunt  Dinah  and  his  son,  and,  that  owing  to 
an  over-tax  upon  his  nerves  and  perhaps  too  much  activity, 
he  was  fearful  of  a  recurrence  of  fever.  He  had  taken  the  pre- 
331 


NORKOMA 

caution  to  go  to  the  hospital   "Mercedes,"   that  he  might 
have  good  care  and  attention. 

Immediately  upon  reading  the  letter,  Butler  telegraphed 
the  hospital  as  follows : 

"Please  afford  patient  Olcott  every  facility  and  the  best 
medical  attention  possible  to  be  had  in  your  city.  Spare  no 
expense;  cost  is  not  to  be  considered.  Draw  on  me  for 
necessary  funds.  Report  condition  of  patient  daily. 

"JOE  BUTLER." 


332 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
A  SUDDEN  DEATH. 

When  Mrs.  Marchand  had  fully  recovered  from  the  ef 
fects  of  her  fright  caused  by  the  reading  of  the  typewritten 
statement,  she  began  thinking  more  calmly  over  the  facts  as 
therein  related.  She  felt  quite  certain  that  the  person  who 
related  the  strange  story  was  no  other  than  her  former  hus 
band.  The  poor  woman  was  at  a  loss  to  know  just  what  to 
do  or  where  to  turn  for  counsel  and  advice.  True,  she  had 
told  Mr.  Marchand  all  that  she  knew  about  the  unhappy 
incidents  of  her  early  life.  On  that  score  she  had  no  cause  for 
regret,  for  she  had  done  all  that  an  honest,  honorable  woman 
could  have  done.  Marchand  could  certainly  not  lay  any 
blame  to  her  account,  yet  the  poor  woman  was  greatly  dis 
turbed  in  mind.  She  feared  the  discovery  might  in  some 
way  bring  odium  upon  her  husband,  or  upon  Edith  and  Wal 
ter,  for  which  the  public  would  censure  her.  Certainly,  there 
should  be  some  one  in  whom  she  must  confide,  for  she  could 
no  longer  contain  her  emotions,  her  fears,  unobserved  by 
her  family.  They  surely  must  become  aware  of  the  strain 
upon  her.  She  had  written  Walter  to  come  home  at  once, 
it  is  true,  without  stating  reasons.  But  he  might  not  arrive 
in  time  to  be  of  service  as  an  adviser. 

333 


NORKOMA 

She  had  always  confided  in  Edith,  but  now  she 'erroneously 
felt  that  Edith  was  disinclined  to  be  as  lovingly  loyal  as  in 
former  times.  Of  course,  in  that  she  did  the  daughter  an  in 
justice.  At  last  she  confided  in  her  husband.  She  assured 
him  of  the  cause  of  her  fears,  and  of  her  belief  that  her  fears 
were  well  founded. 

No  argument  of  the  husband  could  sway  her  from  her 
steadfast  belief.  The  story  of  the  incident  compared  with 
the  facts  of  her  former  life,  and  there  could  be  no  two 
incidents  exactly  alike. 

"Well/"'  said  the  husband,  somewhat  irritated,  "if  such 
be  true,  even  then  there  is  no  need  of  alarm.  How  can  you 
be  discovered,  here  in  my  home,  and  identified  as  the  former 
Mrs.  Norma  Olcott?" 

"You  overlook  the  fact  that  the  notice  of  our  marriage 
was  published  in  all  the  papers  at  the  time." 

"Yes,  I  had  not  thought  of  that.  But  it  is  barely  possible 
that  the  files  of  old  newspapers  should  be  resorted  to  in 
the  search  for  you.  Besides,  there  may  have  been  a  dozen 
others  bearing  the  name  of  ISTorma  Olcott.  I  remember  that 
the  papers  gave  your  name  as  Norma,  leaving  the  impression 
that  you  were  a  maiden.  No  one  would  ever  discover  you 
here,  unless,  through  your  own  fears  or  conduct,  you  lead  to 
that  result.  You  are  not  to  blame  if  your  first  husband  is 
not  dead.  Your  conduct  in  the  matter  is  beyond  reproach. 
It  was  honorable,  honest  and  upright.  I  absolve  you  from 
even  the  thought  of  wrong-doing.  What  more  could  you 
wish?" 

"Oh,  husband,  you  don't  know  how  your  manly  words  have 
given  relief  to  my  troubled  soul.  I  feared  that  Edith  and 

334 


A  SUDDEN  DEATH 

Walter  might  not  feel  as  kindly  toward  me  since  this  sus 
picion  has  arisen." 

"Dear  wife,  your  mind  has  been  filled  with  foolish  fears. 
"Kdith  and  Walter  love  you  as  always,  and  they  will  stand 
as  your  firm  defenders  against  the  world,  the  flesh  and  the 
devil." 

"You  have  made  me  so  happy,  dear  husband.  I  am  sorry 
I  did  not  come  to  you  at  the  start.  I  should  have  done  30. 
But  will  there  be  any  publication  given  to  this  story?" 

"I  think  not,  It  is  all  in  Butler's  hands.  He  will  not 
permit  its  publication  if  I  request  him  to  suppress  it." 

"Oh,  please  do  so  at  once,  for  I  do  not  want  it.     It  will 
be  as  a  nightmare  to  me." 
"It  shall  be  so,  my  dear." 

With  the  last  remark,  Marchand  directed  Edith  to  request 
Butler  to  suppress  the  story,  which  was  accordingly  done, 
as  indicated  in  the  previous  chapter. 

Walter  Marchand  was  expected  home  on  the  morning  train, 
but,  having  changed  his  plan,  did  not  arrive  until  the  evening. 
He  was  anxious  to  again  greet  his  family,  and  to  impart  the 
good  news  to  his  father  and  mother,  so  he  went  from  the 
depot  direct  to  "The  Cedars,"  taking  along  Butler,  who  had 
gone  to  meet  him.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to  be  home  again. 
Walter  was  thrilled  with  delight,  with  a  hundred  emotions, 
as  he  sat  in  the  rapidly-moving  carriage  beside  his  friend,  the 
incandescents  in  the  show  windows  of  the  great  stores  making 
the  streets  as  light  as  the  day. 

"Say,  old  fellow,  permit  me  to  congratulate  you  again  upon 
your  good  fortune  in  winning  sister  Edith.  I  am  now  con- 

3B5 


NORKOMA 

vinced  that  little  sister  was  in  love  with  you  all  the  time. 
Gumps  that  we  were,  we  should  have  known  it  long  ago.*' 

"No  man  is  happier  than  am  I,  certainly,"  said  Butler. 
"I  also  congratulate  you  upon  your  good  fortune  in  winning 
Dorothy.  I  can  tell  you  now  that  I  was  aware  that  she  loved 
you  all  the  while." 

"Here  we  are  at  the  gates,  and  bless  me,  there  stands  sweet 
little  Edith  in  the  door,  watching  for  us.  Bless  the  dear 
girl." 

The  greeting  of  brother  and  sister  upon  the  threshold  of 
the  old  home  was,  indeed,  a  tender  and  affectionate  greet 
ing.  It  was  more  tender  and  affectionate  than  is  usually 
observed  between  brother  and  sister,  and  while  pleasant  to 
witness,  Butler  felt  a  slight  tinge  of  pain  or  of  sadness, 
perhaps.  Just  why  he  felt  so,  he  did  not  know.  It  was 
but  momentary,  however,  for  as  Walter  rushed  on  into  the 
house  to  greet  the  father  and  mother,  Edith  turned  to  her 
betrothed,  and,  taking  his  hand  in  both  her  own,  pressed  it 
affectionately  to  her  cheek,  and,  through  her  tears  of  joy, 
whispered,  "my  love." 

That  was  recompense  to  Butler  for  his  momentary  pang. 
He  pressed  his  lips  upon  the  beautiful  brow  of  his  beloved,  and 
answered,  "my  darling."  After  the  informal  and  joyous 
greeting  of  Walter  and  his  parents,  he  informed  them  that  he 
had  some  especially  good  news,  which,  he  felt  sure,  would 
please  them. 

"Don't  keep  poor  mama  and  papa  in  suspense,  Walter.  It 
is  really  mean  in  you,"  said  Edith. 

"Well,  I  have  fallen  a  victim  to  Mis&  Rathbone's  charms, 
and  we  are  to  become  husband  and  wife,"  said  Walter. 

"Hurrah  for  you!"  said  the  father.     I  knew  that  little 

336 


A  SUDDEN  DEATH 

sprite  would  bring  you  to  your  sense  of  the  duty  you  owe  to 
yourself  and  your  country.  Walter,  let  me  congratulate  both 
you  and  Dorothy." 

"And  have  I  not  my  good  mother's  congratulations,  also?" 
said  Walter,  as  he  gently  stroked  Mrs.  Marchand's  hair  and 
kissed  her  forehead. 

"Yes,  my  son,  you  have  my  congratulations,  for  I  think 
Dorothy  will  prove  all  and  more  than  you  expect  of  her. 
It  is  always  a  little  hard,  however,  for  a  mother  to  part  from 
her  children,  even  knowing  it  to  be  for  the  best." 

"We  will  not  part  from  each  other,  mother  dear.  If  I 
shall  conclude  to  live  in  Texas,  you  can  come  and  visit  with 
us,  you  know.  But  we  may  live  right  here,  where  we  can 
be  together,  an  unbroken,  happy  family.  Won't  that  be 
nice?" 

"I  hope  it  may  be  so,  my  son.  When  is  to  be  the  con 
summation  of  your  plans?" 

"Just  so  soon  as  my  term  of  office  as  Mayor  of  this  city 
expires.  That  will  be  three  or  four  months  from  now." 

"I  don't  see  what  your  office  has  to  do  with  it,  Walter," 
said  the  father.  "I  always  feel  that  when  one  fully  makes 
up  his  mind  on  the  question  of  marriage,  he  should  end 
the  suspense  as  quickly  as  possible." 

"Oh,  it  will  be  pleasant  to  live  in  anticipation.  Besides, 
I  want  to  work  out  a  plan  by  which  my  successor  in  office 
shall  carry  out  the  designs  and  projects  of  the  present  ad 
ministration.  You  see,  we  have  inaugurated  many  new  ideas 
for  the  betterment  of  our  city,  and  we  do  not  want  them  to 
fall  into  the  hands  of  persons  who  cannot  be  trusted  to  carry 
them  out.  So  I  shall  have  plenty  to  do  in  laying  the  ground 

337 


NORKOMA 

work  for  a  successful  campaign  and  the  future  consumma 
tion  of  the  work  already  begun." 

"Who  will  likely  be  your  successor,  brother?"  asked  Edith. 

"Your  husband,  jny  dear." 

"What?  Mr.  Butler  will  be  your  successor,  and  he  never 
told  me  of  it?  "surprisedly  suggested  Edith. 

"I  knew  nothing  of  it,  Miss  Edith.  This  is  the  first  in 
timation  I  have  had  of  that  important  fact,"  answered  But 
ler. 

"Butler,  you  are  one  man  that  we  can  certainly  depend 
upon  to  hold  the  city  government  at  the  present  water  mark 
of  prosperity  and  good  standing.  I  shall  confer  with  my 
colleagues  tomorrow,  and  I  am  certain  you  will  be  unani 
mously  agreed  upon.  You  have  nothing  to  do. but  accept  the 
situation  as  you  will  find  it." 

"Have  I  no  choice  in  the  matter,  whatever,  Walter?" 

"None  whatever.  You  will  have  been  married  three  or 
four  months,  settled  down  to  regular  routine,  the  sharp  edge 
of  newly  married  life  worn  off,  and  you  will  be  in  excellent 
trim  for  the  work  before  you.  Besides,  you  can  then  learn 
by  actual  experience  about  that  snake  story ;  ha,  ha.  ha !" 

"Walter,  you  are  a  brick.  It  certainly  did  you  good  to 
take  that  Texas  trip.  But  I  shall  not  promise  you  that  your 
plans  will  prove  altogether  harmonious.  I  am  not  the  only 
one  to  be  consulted  in  the  matter." 

"Oh,  I  see.  Well,  darling  sister,  will  you  consent  to  your 
husband  becoming  my  successor?" 

"I  shall  first  want  to  know  some  of  the  great  plans  you 
have  in  store  for  the  city." 

"Well,  we  want  sidewalks,  and  better  streets,  and " 


A  SUDDEN  DEATH 

"That  is  enough.  If  you,  agree  that  the  city  shall  have 
good  sidewalks,  you  have  my  consent." 

"All  right,  that  is  settled,  and,  Joe  Butler,  you  are  to  be 
the  Mayor,  because  your  wife  says  you  may." 

"Before  we  proceed  farther,  Walter,  let  me  ask  if  the  peo 
ple  are  going  to  have  anything  to  say  about  it?  You  remem 
ber  when  a  committee  waited  on  you  to  notify  you  that  you 
were  to  be  the  next  Mayor,  don't  you?" 

"Oh,  yes.  But  I  am  going  on  the  presumption  that  the 
people  will  nominate  and  elect  you.  I  take  it  that  the  people 
indorse  my  administration,  and  that  they  will  refuse  to 
indorse  any  man  who  does  not  agree  to  carry  out  the  ideas, 
reforms  and  projected  improvements  of  this  administration. 
If  that  be  true,  and  you  agree  to  do  these  things,  I  can  see 
nothing  in  the  way  to  bar  your  progress.  You  have,  besides, 
two  of  the  best  newspapers  in  the  city,  which  will  prove  a 
sure  medium  by  which  you  can  reach  the  people.  Another 
thing  is,  you  are  somewhat  of  a  politician,  and  are  possessed 
of  an  encyclopedia  of  political  knowledge,  as  compared  with 
my  primer." 

"There  is  no  getting  around  your  argument,  Walter,  so 
long  as  there  is  none  to  take  the  negative  side  of  the  ques 
tion.  But  how  about  the  sidewalk  question?  Many  people 
are  already  objecting  and  finding  fault.  They  don't  like  the 
idea  of  being  compelled  to  build  sidewalks." 

"That  is  to  be  expected.  I  know  what  class  of  people  are 
howling  about  it.  It  is  the  speculator,  the  fellow'  who  buys 
up  cheap  property,  lets  it  lie  unimproved,  or  if  improved, 
rents  it,  awaiting  for  his  neighbors  to  improve  the  neighbor 
hood  and  thereby  make  his  property  more  valuable.  The  man 
who  rents  has  a  vote,  the  same  as  the  speculator  who  rents 

339 


NORKOMA 

him  the  house.  The  home-owner  next  door,  who  takes  some 
pride  in  improving  and  beautifying  his  home,  has  a  vote 
the  same  as  the  speculator.  The  poor  devil  who  has  no 
home  at  all,  and  who  lives  in  a  bad  tenement  house  just  be 
yond,  walks  along  the  street  in  mud  and  water  where  there 
ought  to  be  a  sidewalk,  and  he  has  a  vote  just  the  same  as  the 
speculator.  From  a  voting  standpoint,  the  sidewalk  has 
ten  votes  to  one  as  opposed  to  it.  But  I  was  not  thinking 
of  the  matter  from  a  politician's  viewpoint.  I  was  looking 
at  it  in  the  interest  of  the  whole  city.  What  a  shame  it  is 
that  right  in  the  very  heart  of  the  business  portion  of  our 
city  such  miserable  sidewalks  are  to  be  found.  I  have  seen 
women  and  children  compelled  to  walk  out  into  the  street, 
at  places,  to  avoid  almost  impassable  sidewalks  in  front  of 
high  priced  property;  property,  too,  which  the  owner  refuses 
to  sell  at  a  reasonable  price,  and  just  as  unreasonably  refuses 
to  build  a  decent  sidewalk  in  front  of  it.  It  is  this  class  of 
people  who  are  a  curse  to  a  city.  They  do  more  to  prevent 
a  city's  growth,  prosperity,  and  decent  appearance  than  any 
other  class  of  citizens.  I  shall  push  the  sidewalk  law  to  the 
limit  while  I  am  Mayor,  and  will  oppose  the  election  of  any 
and  all  persons  for  city  officials  who  do  not  openly  avow 
their  determination  to  carry  this  work  bravely  on  until  we 
have  something  respectable  in  the  way  of  sidewalks  through 
out  the  whole  city." 

"Well  said,  my  brother,"  exclaimed  Edith,  clapping  her 
hands  with  delight.  "I  do  hope  we  shall  finally  have  more 
and  better  sidewalks,  especially  in  the  business  part  of  town." 

LeBerte  Marchand  had  previously  gone  into  the  library, 
and,  now  returning,  informed  Mr.  Butler  that  a  telegram  of 
importance  had  been  delivered  at  his  office,  but,  upon  inquiry 

340 


A  SUDDEN  DEATH 

over  the  'phono,  he 'had  directed  that  it  be  sent    to    "The 
Cedars." 

"I  thank  you  very  much,  Mr.  Marchand,"  replied  Butler. 

In  a  few  moments  the  telegram  arrived,  which  Butler  put 
in  his  pocket,  unread. 

"Why  don't  you  read  the  message,  Joe?  It  may  be  im 
portant.  No,  you  need  not  go  to  the  library  to  read  it;  you 
are  at  home  here,  so  you  may  as  well  begin  to  act  at  home," 
declared  Walter,  teasingly. 

"Ladies,  I  beg  your  pardon,  and  at  the  same  time  I  will 
read."  *  *  * 

"What,  bad  news?"  asked  Walter,  as  Butler  paled  and 
looked  surprised. 

"Read,"  said  Butler,  as  he  handed  the  message  to  Walter. 

The  message  read  as  follows : 

"Memphis,  Tenn : 190 

"Joe  Butler.     K  0. 

"Your  friend  Wilkoma  Olcott  died  this  evening  at  6  o'clock. 
Await  your  instructions. 

"DR.  W.1  H.  TAYLOR." 

As  Walter  read  the  letter  aloud,  so  that  all  present  heard, 
there  was  an  audible  whisper  of,  "Thank  God,"  and  it  wa? 
observed  that  the  mother's  head  was  sinking  forward,  a  pallor 
spreading  over  her  face.  The  telegram  fell  to  the  floor  as 
Walter  stood  gazing  in  wonderment  at  his  mother,  while 
Edith  and  the  father  went  quickly  to  the  rescue.  With  the 
application  of  restoratives  and  proper  treatment,  the  little 
woman  was  soon  relieved  of  her  momentary  affliction,  al 
though  Edith  remained  by  her  side,  the  mother  having  been 
at  first  carried  to  her  room. 

Walter  and  Butler  were  soon  assured  by  the  father  that  the 

341 


NORKOMA 

mother  had  only  a  slight  heart  weakness,  and  she  would  be 
entirely  well  by  the  following  morning. 

"What  instructions  do  you  suggest  that  I  send  to  Dr. 
Taylor?  Shall  the  body  be  interred  at  Memphis,  or  shall  it 
be  brought  here?"  asked  Butler,  directing  his  question  to 
LeBerte  Marchand. 

"I  presume  there  is  no  necessity  of  a  reply  tonight,  is 
there?  The  body  will  be  embalmed,  no  doubt,"  replied  Mar- 
chand. 

"Very  well,  I  shall  await  your  suggestions,  in  the  morning. 
When  Walter  comes  down  town  he  can  make  known  your 
wishes.  I  shall  now  return  to  the  office  as  I  have  neglected 
some  important  business  matters.  Please  say  good  night  for 
me  to  Edith  and  her  mother.  I  shall  not  disturb  them." 

"In  the  morning,  then,"  said  LeBerte  Marchand,  as  he 
accompanied  Butler  to  the  door  in  person. 

"Yes,  in  the  morning  will  do.     Good  night." 

"Good  night." 

"Now,  my  son,  you  are  aware  of  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Mar- 
chand's  first  husband  disappeared  during  the  war,  and  that 
he  was  never  heard  of  by  her  afterward.  She  has  been  fear 
ful,  lately,  that  our  friend,  the  old  man  John  Hayes,  as  we 
called  him,  was  her  said  former  husband.  In  fact,  I  had, 
but  yesterday,  concluded  that  her  fears  were  well  founded, 
and  the  telegram  just  received  has  convinced  me  of  the  truth 
of  that  fact.  It  said  Wilkoma  Olcott  had  died.  That  was 
the  name  of  Mrs.  Marchand's  first  husband.  Now  you  are 
in  possession  of  the  facts.  What  shall  be  done  with  the 
body?" 

"It  should  be  interred  at  Memphis,  where  it  now  is,  so  as 
to  create  as  little  disturbance  as  possible,  I  should  judge. 

342 


A  SUDDEN  DEATH 

Of  course,  no  one  here  knows?" 

"Xo,  and  I  trust  the  facts  will  not  be  known  to  any  but 
our  immediate  family.  Of  course,  Butler  will  know,  sooner 
or  later,  but  he  will  become  a  member  of  our  family  in  a 
few  days,  so  it  will  be  safe  with  him." 

"I  am  mighty  glad  it  is  all  ended.  Mother  will  surely 
feel  a  great  relief  now.  She  never  need  fear  more." 

"In  a  few  moments  I  shall  'phone  to  Butler  to  direct  that 
the  interment  take  place  at  Memphis,  temporarily,  but  thfot 
the  body  be  well  embalmed,  so  that  it  may  be  removed  later, 
possibly." 

"Very  well,  father,  that  will  save  me  time  in  the  morn 
ing,  as  I  shall  be1  very  busy.  I  will  now  go  in  and  console 
mother,  poor  soul." 

"Yes,  do  that,  Walter,  for  heaven  only  knows  what  the 
poor  woman  has  suffered  in  all  these  years.  Draw  her  mind 
away  from  the  thought  as  quickly  as  possible,  so  that  she 
may  be  restful  during  the  night." 

After  half  an  hour  of  comforting  assurances  from  Walter 
and  Edith,  the  little  mother  became  drowsy  and  fell  asleep, 
when  brother  and  sister  turned  the  light  low  and  tip-toed 
out  of  the  room,  drawing  the  door  to,  but  not  closing  it. 
When  the  brother  and  sister  reached  the  library,  they  en 
sconced  themselves  in  a  cozy  corner  and  held  a  conference, 
such  as  only  Edith  and  Walter  could  hold.  They  each  real 
ized  that  the  time  for  the  parting  of  their  ways  had  come, 
and  they  were  prepared  for  it.  It  was  fortunate,  however, 
so  they  made  themselves  believe,  that  each  had  formed  such 
loving  new  relations,  and,  Oh,  how  happy  they  would  all  be. 
The  thought  was  glorious  to  them,  yet  they  confessed  to  each 

343 


NORKOMA 

other  that  there  was  a  tinge  of  pain.  The  old  clock  upon 
the  mantel  struck  off  the  passing  hours,  all  unheeded  or 
unheard  by  the  brother-sister  sweethearts.  Finally,  the  father, 
startled  between  naps  by  the  hum  of  conversation,  feared 
there  were  burglars  in  the  hourse,  and  proceeded  to  investi 
gate.  He  discovered  his  children  in  the  library  as  fond  and 
loving  as  they  were  in  years  gone  by,  when  they  were  pre 
paring  their  school  lessons  in  that  same  old  room.  His  pres 
ence  aroused  them,  and  they  were  reminded  of  the  hour.  That 
was  sufficient.  The  brother  and  sister  retired  to  their  rooms, 
while  the  father  sank  down  in  a  large  chair  to  dream  over 
and  over  again  the  same  old,  old  dreams  in  which  the  vision 
of  a  beautiful  wife,  son  and  daughter  had  filled  the  old 
home  with  light,  warmth  and  happiness,  years,  long  year?, 
ago. 


344 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

t' 

NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS. 

As  suggested  to  Butler  .by  LeBerte  Marchand,  the  body 
of  Wilkoma  Olcott,  or  John  Hayes,  was  given  burial  at 
Memphis.  Marchand  further  suggested  that,  if  possible,  But 
ler  should  go  to  Memphis  and  attend  the  funeral,  as  a  mark 
of  respect  for  his  friend,  and,  incidentally,  that  proof  of 
death  might  be  made,  so  as  to  probate  the  will  of  the  de 
ceased.  Whatever  else  Marchand  may  have  had  in  mind  was 
not  at  the  time  made  known,  if,  indeed,  he  had  any  other 
object  in  view.  When  Butler  returned,  he  brought  with  him 
a  photograph  of  the  deceased,  together  with  affidavits  of 
the  attending  physicians  as  to  the  death  of  the  man,  Wil 
koma  Olcott,  otherwise  known  as  John  Hayes.  These  were 
exhibited  to  LeBerte  Marchand,  resulting  in  the  restoration 
of  perfect  quietude,  and  driving  away  all  fears  from  the 
minds  of  the  occupants  of  "The  Cedars." 

Once  more  the  home  of  LeBerte  Marchand  was  the  scene 
of  joy,  peace  and  happiness.  No  more  were  the  members  of 
that  happy  family  to  bear  the  torturing  fear  of  a  possible 
future  exposure  of  some  hidden  skeleton.  The  little  moth 
er  could  now  face  the  world  with  a  smile  and  a  light  heart. 
Not  that  she  should  have  ever  felt  otherwise,  for  her  con 
science  had  always  been  clear,  her  heart  clean,  and  her  life 

345 


NORKOMA 

pure.  It  had  been  no  fault  of  hers  if,  in  the  providence  of 
God,  the  knowledge  of  certain  facts  were  withheld  from  her 
during  all  those  years.  She  followed  the  light  which  provi 
dence  had  afforded  her,  and  therefore  felt  the  consciousness 
of  having  done  right.  Withal,  the  fears,  tte  doubt  had  been 
an  ever  fruitful  source  of  mind  and  soul  torture.  Those 
doubts  and  fears  were  now  suddenly  brushed  away  by  the 
natural  death  of  Wilkoma  Olcott,  henceforth  rest,  peace,  joy. 
One  thing  more,  however,  the  little  woman  desired,  and  which 
would  greatly  add  to  her  joy.  If  Providence  would  now  re 
store  to  her  the  son,  her  boy,  she  could  ask  nothing  more. 
But  the  little  woman  resolved  to  try  and  content  herself 
with  the  blessing  she  already  enjoyed,  dismissing  the  further 
thought  from  her  mind  forever,  as  she  believed. 

LeBerte  Marchand  was,  to  all  appearances,  as  equally  con 
tent  and  happy  as  were  the  other  members  of  the  household. 
True,  his  mind  was  equally  relieved  of  the  doubt  and  fear 
of  the  one  possible  family  skeleton.  Now,  that  both  his 
daughter  and  son  were  each  to  marry  and  settle  down  in 
life,  there  was  no  further  burden  of  soul.  His  life-long  secret 
regarding  the  little  locket  had,  to  some  extent,  lost  import 
ance  owing  to  the  recent  developments.  Yet  he  would,  for 
the  sake  of  the  old  life,  retain  his  secret  and  the  little  locket, 
safe  from  the  knowledge  of  the  world.  It  had  been  his  cus- 
custom  for  years  to  seek  the  privacy  of  his  little  room,  and, 
with  the  locket  in  hand,  dream  over  and  over  the  old,  old 
'days.  There  was  no  necessity  for  violating  this  old  custom, 
thouht  he.  hence  he  would  let  matters  rock  alon  in  the  old 


It  w*»s  but  a  few  days  until  the  marriage  of  Edith  and 
Butler   should   be   solemnized,   and   Dorothy   Rathbone   was 


346 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 

already  at  "The  Cedars"  to  take  part  in  the  ceremonies  as 
bridesmaid.  The  old  home  fairly  sparkled  with  mirth,  mer 
riment  and  good  cheer.  Midst  all  the  anxiety  and  joyful 
anticipations,  Walter  and  Dorothy  found  occasion  and  op 
portunity  for  consultation  and  discussion  upon  matters  more 
serious  and  problems  more  weighty,  as  they  suggested.  It 
was  at  this  time  when  Walter  was  absorbed  in  a  research  for 
information  relating  to  the  conditions  of  trade  between  Lat 
in-America  and  the  United  States,  as  compared  with  that 
of  Europe. 

"From  the  most  recent  statistics,"  said  Walter,  "I  have 
ascertained  that  for  the  year  19 — ,  the  trade  of  Latin- 
America  with  Europe  was  of  the  value  of  $669,000,000, 
while  the  trade  with  the  United  States  was  but  $306,000,- 
000,  or  less  than  one-half  that  of  Europe.  Our  country 
exported  to  Latin-America  trade  of  the  value  of  $68,000,000, 
and  imported  from  the  same  countries  for  the  same  period 
values  of  $238,000,000,  leaving  a  net  balance  of  trade  in 
favor  of  Latin-America  of  $170,000,000.  Is  not  that  a  de 
plorable  condition  of  business  affairs?  Does  this  not  show 
that  we,  of  the  United  States,  are  mercilessly  neglecting 
golden  opportunities  of  trade  with  our  next  door  neighbors? 
Neighbors  of  whom  we  are,  by  the  policy  of  our  government, 
the  friend  and  protector  against  foreign  invasion?  Why 
was  the  Monroe  Doctrine  established?  Was  not  one  of  its 
purposes,  though  perhaps  concealed  at  the  time,  to  protect 
and  encourage  our  trade  with  Latin- America  ?  Why  will 
our  people  persist  in  going  to  Oriental  countries  for  trade, 
where  sooner  or  later  the  United  States  will  become  involved 
in  international  wars  that  will  kill  off  our  young  men  and 
create  a  pension  list  so  large  that  it  may  engulf  us  beyond 

347 


NORKOMA 

possible  recovery  ?  The  doors  of  the  Orient  are  rapidly  closing 
against  the  trade  of  the  United  States,  while  Europe  is 
stealthily  fostering  the  trade  of  our  American  neighbors. 
Why  can  we  not  begin  to  realize  the  actual  conditions  ex 
isting  in  Latin-America  which  have  permitted  Europe  to 
enjoy  the  trade  of  those  nearby  neighbors?  Why  do  we 
not  begin  to  realize  that  the  world's  greatest  future  develop 
ments  and  progress  will  be  found  in  the  great  Southwest, 
Texas  and  Latin-America?  Do  we  not  see  the  building  of 
the  isthmian  canal,  the  interoceanic  railroads  and  pipelines, 
the  international  lines  of  railroads  and  steamships,  the  vast 
industries  forcing  themselves  into  Texas,  Mexico,  Centra] 
and  South  America  ?  These  countries  are  already  taking  the 
lead  in  development,  and  it  means  a  future  prosperity  the 
like  of  which  the  world  never  before  knew.  Is  it  not  time 
that  the  United  States  should  take  fewer  chances  of  East 
ern  wars,  and  help  build  up  the  western  world?  It  seems 
so  natural  that  the  trade  of  Latin-America  should  belong 
to  the  United  States,  that  there  is  no  excuse  for  the  present 
unsatisfactory  conditions,  nor  the  apparent  apathy  upon 
the  part  of  the  American  people." 

"If,  as  you  say,"  said  Dorothy,  "the  lack  of  acquaintance 
with  the  existing  conditions  of  the  Latin  countries  is  the 
cause,  then  certainly  the  remedy  must  be  along  educational 
lines,  such  as  are  contemplated  by  the  projected  Pan-Ameri 
can  College  of  Commerce,  is  it  not?" 

"There  is  no  question  about  it,"  replied  Walter.  "The 
results  to  be  obtained  by  the  method  to  be  adopted  by  the 
college  of  commerce  will  prove  more  effective  and  speedy 
than  would  all  the  steamship  and  railroad  lines  that  will 

348 


be  established  between  the  United  States  and  Latin-America 
within  the  present  century." 

While  Walter  and  Dorothy  were  thus  discussing  the  trade 
conditions  of  the  Americas,  they  were  interrupted  by  Edith, 
who  reminded  them  that  Mr.  Butler  and  Mr.  Walton  had 
come  to  open  and  read  the  last  will  and  testament  of  the 
late  John  Hayes,  otherwise  known  as  "The  Prince  of 
Pearls." 

"Your  presence  is  urgently  requested.  Please  come," 
added  Edith,  then  returned  to  her  guests.  When  all  had 
assembled  in  the  spacious  room,  Mr.  Walton  stated  that  he 
had  prepared  the  last  will  and  testament  of  the  late  Wilkoma 
Olcott,  and  that  the  same  had  been  executed  according  to 
the  formalities  required  by  law.  That  he  would  break  the 
seal  and  make  known  the  contents  and  provisions  thereof 
in  the  presence  of  those  assembled,  according  to  the  cus 
toms  of  the  country,  in  matters  of  this  character.  Where 
upon,  the  seal  was  broken  and  the  document  examined. 

"Before  publicly  reading  the  document,"  said  Mr.  Walton, 
"I  shall  ask  if  there  be  any  one  present  who  desires  first  to 
examine  the  document?" 

"With  your  permission,"  said  LeBerte  Marchand,  "I  should 
be  pleased  to  inspect  the  document,  not  that  I  apprehend 
there  are  any  irregularities  as  to  form,  however,"  Eeceiving 
the  instrument  from  the  hands  of  Mr.  Walton,  Marchand 
began  searching  for  his  spectacles,  but  failed  to  find  them. 

"I  presume  you  left  your  glasses  in  your  room,  papa," 
suggested  Edith,  "I  will  bring  them  for  you."  Whereupon 
Edith  went  to  the  father's  rooms  and  finding  the  glasses 

349 


NORKOMA 

upon  the  old  iron  safe  among  other  articles  and  papers,  re 
turned,  saying: 

"Here  are  your  glasses,  papa,"  Then  going  to  her  mother, 
unobserved  by  the  father,  said: 

"I  suppose  this  is  yours,  mother,  as  I  found  it  lying 
upon  the  safe  with  father's  glasses,"  handing  to  the  mother 
at  the  same  time,  the  little  golden  chain  and  locket  which 
had,  by  accident,  been  left  lying  there  by  the  father  when 
he  was  suddenly  called  to  hear  the  reading  of  the  will.  The 
mother  gave  a  slight  start  at  the  first  glance  at  the  locket, 
then  adjusting  her  glasses  she  observed  the  inscription  upon 
the  side,  "Jfonna."  Either  by  accident  or  by  a  deft  and 
unobserved  manipulation,  the  locket  was  opened  an'i  the 
mother  gazed  upon  the  picture  therein  contained,  at  the  same 
time  uttering  a  scream  of  surprise  and  fright,  bewildering 
those  present,  all  of  whom  sat  looking  at  the  mother  with  a 
transfixed  gaze.  With  an  effort  the  little  woman  composed 
herself  in  a  measure,  then  straightened  up  as  if  nerving  her 
self  for  a  personal  affray  with  a  foe,  and  fixing  her  eyes 
steadily  upon  Edith,  coldly  said: 

"How  came  you  by  this  little  locket?" 

"I  found  it  on  papa's  safe,"  replied  Edith,  excitedly. 

"Husband,  do  you  know  how  this  locket  came  to  be  in 
your  possession,  or  at  least  in  your  room?" 

"Yes,  wife,  I  know  all  about  it.    Why  do  you  ask?"' 

"Because,  this  locket  was  my  own.  It  contains  the  pic 
ture  of  my  girlhood  days.  It  was  worn  by  my  only  child,  my 
little  Xorkoma." 

"My  God,  woman,  are  you  speaking  the  truth?"  said 
Marchand. 

350 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 

"Yes,  so  help  me  God,"  replied  the  mother.  "If  you  know 
all  about  this  locket,  then  you  possibly  know  all  about  my 
son.  Oh,  my  God,  tell  me  quick.  Do  you  know?" 

"If  what  you  say  is  true,  I  do  know  about  your  son." 

"Where  is  he,  where  is  my  son,  for  Heaven's  sake  tell  me." 

"There  is  your  son !  Walter  Marchand  is  your  son,  if  you 
speak  the  truth." 

"You  deceive  me,  he  is  your  own  son.  Tell  me,  or  I  shall 
go  mad." 

"No,  Walter  Marchand  is  not  the  child  of  my  own  blood, 
but  my  adopted  son.  I  tell  you  that,  if  what  you  have  said  be 
true,  Walter  is  your  own  son." 

"Then  thank  God,  my  only  prayer  has  been  answered,  my 
only  hope -has  been  realized.  I  felt  all  these  years  that  you, 
Walter,  were  the  child  of  my  own  blood,  else  I  could  not 
have  loved  you  as  I  did.  Thank  God,  my  cup  of  joy  is  filled, 
I  am  content." 

"What  does  all  this  mean  ?"  excitedly  inquired  Walter.  "I 
am  dumfounded,  I  do  not  understand.  Father,  you  say  I  am 
not  the  child  of  your  own  blood.  I  have  the  right  to  demand 
of  you  an  explanation.  I  have  grown  up  in  your  family, 
believing  I  was  your  son,  the  brother  of  your  daughter 
Edith.  You  must  have  had  cause  for  this  deception,  this 
silence." 

"Do  not  be  harsh,  my  son,"  said  the  mother,  "for  now  I 
must  thank  God  that  your  young  life  fell  into  the  hands  of 
so  'good  and  noble  a  man  as  LeBerte  Marchand.  Be  calm, 
and  learn  the  story  of  your  childhood  days,  then  you  will 
have  cause  to  be  thankful  that  LeBerte  Marchand  has  lived." 

"Edith,  my  child,''  said  Marchand,  "go  into  my  room, 
and  upon  the  iron  safe,  where  you  fond  the  little  locket, 

351 


NORKOMA 

you  will  also  find  a  written  document  tied  with  a  red  tape. 
Bring  it  to  me,  please,  for  it  is  my  story  with  relation  to  this 
matter.  I  prepared  it  years  ago,  so  that  in  the  event  of  my 
sudden  taking  off,  my  family  would  learn  the  true  status  of 
my  son  Walter."  When  Edith  returned  the  father  added: 

"Here  it  is,  Walter,  read  it  for  yourself." 

Walter  hastily  read  aloud  the  plainly  written  document 
which  gave  in  detail  the  facts  as  to  how  and  when  the  little 
boy  "Norkoma"  was  rescued  from  the  old  negress  at  Mem 
phis,  and  followed  on  down  to  the  time  when  he  returned 
from  the  college,  a  young  man  of  whom  his  foster  father 
was  overproud.  There,  Marchand's  story  ended,  and  Walter 
looked  around,  first  at  one  and  then  at  another,  finally  say 
ing:  "It  it  incredible." 

"Now,  I  understand  the  situation,"  said  Butler.  "You 
have  all  read  the  portion  of  the  old  man's  written  statement 
which  I  handed  to  Mr.  Marchand,  but  which  does  not  in 
special  terms  connect  with  Mr.  Marchand's  statement.  That 
was  not  all  of  the  old  gentleman's  story.  There  is  a  sup 
plementary  statement,  made  by  Mr.  Olcott,  a  couple 
of  days  afterwards.  It  is  attached  to  the  will  for  the  pur 
pose  of  identifying  his  wife  and  child,  in  case  they  were 
ever  found.  I  was  requested  by  him  to  not  make  the  con 
tents  of  his  supplementary  statement  known  until  his  wife 
or  son  be  found,  or  until  his  death.  Being  now  absolved, 
I  ask  Mr.  Walton  to  read  the  supplementary  statement." 

Mr.  Walton  read  aloud  the  statement  last  made  by  Olcott, 
to  the  surprise  of  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Marchand,  proving 
almost  beyond  doubt  that  the  little  boy  whom  Marchand 
recovered  from  the  old  negress  was  no  other  than  Walter 
Marchand,  and  the  son  of  Norma  Marchand's  body. 

352 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 

"Now,  I  have  sent  for  the  old  negress  who  may  be  a.ble  to 
close  the  gap  in  the  proof  as  to  who  Walter  Marchand  really 
is,"  said  Butler.  "You  realize  the  fact  that  the  old  negress 
may  have  had  a  half  dozen  little  white  boys  in  her  charge 
at  different  times  after  the  war,  and,  if  so,  Walter  Marchand 
may  not  be  the  son  of  Wilkoma  Olcott." 

"Oh,  please,  Mr.  Butler,  if  there  is  any  doubt  about  Walter 
being  my  son,  for  God's  sake,  do  not,  do  not  take  him  from 
me!" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Marchand,  there  is  no  doubt.  I  will  prove 
it.  May  I  bring  the  old  negress  in  here?"  said  Butler. 
"Certainly,  certainly,  let  her  come  in,"  said  Marchand. 
"Let  me  first  tell  you  that  the  old  negress  was  my  father's 
slave,  and  during  the  war  she  was  liberated,  going  direct  to 
Memphis,  where  she  lived  until  some  years  after  the  war 
closed,  when  she  came  back  to  our  plantation.  She  lived 
with  us  until  after  I  went  off  to  college,  where  Walter  and 
I  first  met.  She  then  came  here,  and,  by  accident,  she 
found  me.  I  have  been  taking  care  of  her  since.  I  beg  of 
you  to  show  kindness  to  my  old  black  mammy,  so  that  we 
mav  get  her  full  story." 

When  old  Aunt  Dinah  was  brought  into  the  room,  Butler 
explainer]  to  her  the  purpose  for  which  she  was  there,  and 
requested  her  to  be  careful  and  answer  truthfully  any  ques 
tion  that  might  be  asked  her.  Then  handing  to  her  the  lit 
tle  locket  and  chain,  asked : 

"Did  you  ever  see  this  little  locket  before,  Aunt  Dinah?" 
After  examining  it  carefully,  she  answered : 
"Yessah,  Marse  Joe,  I  done  seed  that  afoh." 
"When  and  where  did  you  see  it,  Auntie?" 

353 


NORKOMA 

"Long  time  ago  when  I  lived  in  Memphis.  Dat  b'long  to 
my  white  baby,  sho'  as  yo'  live." 

"What  baby?" 

"'Koma,  my  white  baby,  'Koma.  I  done  tole  you  all 
'bout  dat,  Marse  Joe,  what  you  axin'  me  agin  f o'  ?" 

"Because  I  want  these  friends  of  mine  to  know  the  truth. 
What  became  of  the  white  baby?" 

"I  done  tole  you  a  white  man  kem  and  got  him.  He  sed 
as  how  he  was  de  uncle  o'  dat  chile,  and  he  giv'  me  twenty 
dollahs  for  de  keepin',  den  he  tooked  de  chile,  locket  an'  all, 
away.  Den  I  went  back  to  Alabamy,  to  my  ole  Marse  But 
ler's.  Dat's  de  Gawd's  blessed  truf.  Dat's  what  it  is." 

"Did  you  ever  have  any  other  white  baby  in  your  keeping 
while  you  lived  in  Memphis?" 

"Naw  sah,  naw  sah,  dat's  de  onliest  white  baby  what  I 
evah  did  have.  Dat's  sho's  you  live,  Marse  Joe." 

"That  is  all,  Aunt  Dinah,  unless  some  one  present  de 
sires  to  ask  you  a  question." 

"I  will  ask  her  a  question,  Mr.  Butler,"  said  Marchand. 

"What  was  the  little  boy  doing  on  the  day  the  white  man 
came  and  took  him  away?" 

"Doin'?  He  was  too  little  fer  to  do  anything,  I  reckon," 
said  the  negress. 

"Did  he  ever  try  to  sell  newspapers?" 

"Oh,  yassah,  yassah,  I  done  tried  to  larn  him  to  sell  pa- 
pahs,  'kase  I  wuz  too  po'  fer  to  let  him  set  'round  doin' 
nuffin.  Yassah,  he  done  sole  a  few  papahs,  but  he  wasn't 
big  'miff  to  do  much  of  anyt'ing." 

'That  is  all,  I  have  no  more  questions,"  said  Marchand, 
and  Aunt  Dinah  was  dismissed.  Then  Butler  turned  to 
Walter  and  said: 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 

"You  know  now  where  you  heard  those  old  nursery  negro 
melodies.  Aunt  Dinah  was  your  old  black  mammy,  as  well 
as  my  own." 

"I  am  now  convinced  beyond  all  doubt,  that  Walter  is  of 
the  flesh  and  blood  of  my  wife,  Norma,"  said  LeBerte  Mar- 
chand,  "although  I  had  never  dreamed  such  to  have  been 
possible.  In  the  early  days,  I  feared  that  he  would  be  dis 
covered  and  taken  away  from  me,  so  I  guarded  my  knowledge 
of  the  matter  as  with  the  secrecy  of  the  grave.  So  did  I 
love  my  adopted  son,  so  jealous  for  his  every  advantage  that 
life  could  afford  him  was  I,  that  I  dared  not  breathe  my 
secret  even  to  my  present  wife  nor  my  children.  I  had 
resolved  to  carry  my  secret  with  me  to  the  grave  if  neces 
sary,  rather  than  to  see  my  son  torn  from  my  bosom.  Then 
later,  when  I  became  aware  of  the  passion  of  love  existing 
between  my  son  and  daughter,  my  heart  bled  for  them,  but 
there  was  no  remedy.  Had  they  known,  they  would  have 
cursed  my  gray  hairs  to  the  grave.  The  people  could  not 
have  understood,  and  both  my  wife  and  I  would  have  gone 
to  our  graves  in  sorrow.  Thank  God  that  it  has  all  ended  so 
beautifully,  by  each  of  our  children  finally  choosing  life 
companions  who  will  make  their  lives  most  happy." 

"Father,  foregive  me,"  said  Walter,  for  my  cruel  words  a 
moment  ago.  I  did  not  then  understand.  I  want  to  thank 
you  for  all  you  have  done  for  me,  and,  so  long  as  I  live,  I 
shall  love  you  more  and  more,  for  I  shall  never  be  able  to 
repay  the  debt  of  gratitude  I  owe.  And  my  dear  little 
mother,  God  bless  you,  I  have  loved  you  so  much — oh,  I  have 
loved  you  more  than  I  could  have  loved  any  one  who  was  not 
my  real  mother.  Often  my  heart  told  me  that  you  were  my 
own  sweet  mother.  But  there,  be  happy  now,  and  I  promise 

355 


NORKOMA 

you  I  will  continue  to  love  you  only  as  a  true  son  can  love 
his  mother.  And,  my  darling  sister,  what  can  I  say  to  you 
but  words  of  love.  We  have  been  companions  and  sweet 
hearts  from  our  childhood  days,  and — " 

"Walter,  Edith,"  said  the  father,  directing  their  attention 
to  both  Butler  and  Dorothy,  who  were  each  slowly  drifting 
with  bowed  heads  and  in  silence  into  the  library. 

"Don't,  brother.  Say  no  more  at  present.  It  no  doubt 
causes  an  unpleasantness — " 

"Yes,  yes,  I  forgot,"  interjected  Walter,  interpreting 
Edith's  mind.  Then  quickly  overtaking  Butler  and  Doro 
thy,  begged  them  to  return,  which  they  did,  when  Walter 
continued : 

"Now,  sir,  my  friend  Butler,  let  me  place  your  hand  in 
that  of  your  wife,  the  truest,  best,  dearest  littl?  sister  in 
all  the  world,  and  who  will  be  as  good  a  wife  as  she  is  a 
sister." 

"Walter,"  said  Butler,  "you  are  generous,  but  I  shall  insist 
that  Edith's  desires  shall  be  consulted  in  this  matter." 

"Old  boy,  I  know  how  you  love  my  sister,  and  I  know 
she  loves  you.  Let  her  speak." 

Then  Edith,  taking  Butler's  hand  in  both  her  own,  said, 
with  eyes  filled  with  tears  of  joy: 

"Like  one  of  old,  I  say:  'Whither  thou  goest,  shall  I  go, 
and  where  thou  diest  shall  I  die.  Thy  God  shall  be  my 
God,  and  thy  people  shall  be  my  people.' '; 

"God  bless  you,  my  little  angel,  all  the  days  of  my  life 
will  I  strive  to  be  worthy  of  so  good,  so  pure,  so  gentle  and 
loving  a  wife,  as  I  know  you  shall  be,"  said  Butler  in  broken 
voice. 

"Well,  folks,  no  one  has  the  best  of  me,"  said  Walter,  as 

356 


NORKOMA,  THE  PRINCE  OF  PEARLS 

he  held  Dorothy's  hand.  "Let  us  cheer  up,  for  Dorothy  and 
I  have  just  agreed  to  make  the  affair  a  double  wedding." 

"God  bless  you,  my  children,  you  don't  know  how  happy 
it  makes  my  poor  old  heart.  I  know  mother  shares  my 
happiness/'  said  the  father. 

In  a  few  minutes  quiet  was  restored,  and  the  will  was 
read,  which  provided  that  for  the  legal  services  rendered  by 
Walter  Marchand,  and  for  the  brotherly  services  rendered 
by  Butler,  each  were  bequeathed  one-tenth  of  the  estate.  In 
the  event  the  wife,  Norma  Olcott,  was  found  and  unmarried, 
the  balance  of  the  estate  should  go  to  her,  for  herself  and 
son.  But,  if  married  and  in  needy  circumstances,  one-half 
of  the  remainder  should  go  to  her,  and  the  other  half  to 
the  son,  Norkoma  Olcott.  Otherwise,  the  remainder  was 
wholly  bequeathed  to  the  son.  But  in  the  event  that  neither 
wife  nor  son  be  found,  the  entire  remainder  should  go  to 
Joseph  Butler  and  Walter  Marchand,  to  be  employed  by 
them  for  charitable  or  individual  purposes,  as  they  might 
dec!  11  proper. 

"According  to  the  unmistakable  evidence,"  said  Butler, 
Walter  Marchand  is  no  other  person  than  ISTorkoma  Olcott, 
and  the  sole  and  only  heir  to  the  fortune,  as  well  as  to  the 
title,  the  'Prince  of  Pearls.'  " 

"All  hail,  the  'Prince  of  Pearls,' "  joyously  exclaimed 
Dorothy. 

THE   END. 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE — To  create  a  widespread  interest  in  the  projected  Pan- American 
College  of  Commerce,  is  one  of  the  objects  of  this  book.  Those  who  have  become 
interested  are  kindly  requested  to  read  the  Appendix. 

357 


APPENDIX 


APPENDIX 


The  idea  of  the  projected  Pan-American  College  of 
(sometimes  called  Pan-Amerieam  Trades  College)  was  conceived  mm* 
originated  by  the  author  of  this  book.  The  «l»nfcrf^  •miiilj  of 
some  method  or  means  by  which  the  United  States  may  bring  about  a. 
better  trade  condition  with  Latin  America  two—**  man  and  •ORB 
apparent  every  year.  The  very  fact  that,  fat  the  year  190^  lac  trade 
of  the  United  States  with  Latin-Ameriea  was  $63,000,« 


one-half  of  Europe  "s  trade  with  the  saaw  qmnUjirK,  is  a  condition  tint 
speaks  volumes.  Again,  the  exports  from  the  United  States  to  Lotm- 
Ameriea  for  the  same  year  were  less  than  the  imports  to  those  conn- 
tries  by  $170,000,000.  leaving  a  net  balance  of  trade  in  far 
Latin-Ameriea  by  just  that  sum,  as  against  the  United  States.  Tins 
condition  needs  BO  comment. 

On  May  6th,  1905,  a  special  committee,  reporting  to  the  Texas 
Legislature,  upon  the  conditions  and  trade  relations  of  the  United 
States  and  Latin- America,  in  part,  said: 

•  •  The  greatest  field  of  trade  in  the  world  lies  at  the  very  doors 
of  the  United  States,  while  the  American  merchant  and  exporter  'lies 
to  distant  climes'  for  an  undiscovered  field.     A  few  fTjaipirn  may 
serve  to  illustrate  our  trade  conditions  with  Latin-America,  as  tarn 
pared  with  European  countries: 

• '  ARGENTINE  BEPUBLL  . 

•  *  In  1S90,  the  imports  of  the  Argentine  Republic  frost  fire  foreigm 
countries  were  as  foil 

Great  Britain   =•" 

France    1: 

Belgium   1 

Germany    I: 

United  States   4.<»XOOO 

361 


APPENDIX 

"The  trade  of  the  United  States  with  Argentine  in  1890  was  no 
greater  than  it  was  twenty  years  prior. 

"HONDURAS. 

"The  importations  from  the  United  States  for  the  year  1892  were 
$512,000.  Exports  to  the  United  States  for  the  same  year  were 
$963,000;  the  balance  of  trade  in  favor  of  Honduras  being  $451,000. 

"NICARAGUA. 

"The  imports  into  this  country  for  1890  from  two  foreign  coun 
tries  were: 

England  $1,324,000 

United  States  811,000 

"MEXICO. 

"For  the  year  1898,  Mexico  exported  into  the  United  States  com 
merce  of  the  value  of  $94,974,616,  while  the  value  of  her  imports 
from  the  United  States  for  the  same  year  was  $21,490,604. 

"Many  illustrations  could  be  given  to  show  the  very  unsatisfactory 
commercial  relations  existing  between  the  United  States  and  our 
Latin-American  neighbors.  The  commerce  of  these  countries  should 
have  been  ours,  long  ago. 

"BARRIER  TO  OUR  TRADE. 

' '  The  great  barrier  is  a  lack  of  knowledge  by  the  American  ex 
porter  as  to  the  wants,  needs,  customs,  habits,  languages  and  usages 
of  the  Latin-American,  and  a  lack  of  acquaintance  with  the  people 
of  those  countries.  Some  practical  suggestions  are  to  be  found  in  a 
letter  written  by  a  merchant  in  Honduras  to  the  Bureau  of  Ameri 
can  Republics.  An  extract  therefrom  reads  as  follows: 

' '  '  The  failure  of  the  merchants  of  the  United  States  to  capture 
the  Latin-American  trade  is  due  to  the  fact  that  they  do  not  send 
out .  reliable  agents  who  can  speak  the  language  and  who  are  ac 
quainted  with  the  habits,  tastes,  wants  and  needs  of  the  people. 
English  and  German  houses  avail  themselves  of  the  services  of 
such  men,  and  the  consequence  is,  they  get  the  business.  The  great 
requisites  for  such  a  man  are,  ability  to  speak  and  write  the  Spanish 
language;  to  know  the  wants,  needs,  tastes  and  customs  of  the 
people;  to  have  a  knowledge  of  the  patterns  and  classes  of  goods 
suited  to  the  various  markets  here.  I  have  never  heard  of  an. 

362 


APPENDIX 

American  agent  visiting  this  country  who  was  capable.  All  whom 
I  have  personally  met  were  in  entire  ignorance  of  the  needs  and 
wants  of  the  people. ' 

"UNITED  STATES  CONSUL  WOOD. 

"United  States  Consul  Wood,  in  Honduras,  in  a  report  to  the 
United  States,  among  other  things,  says: 

IC  'American  exporters  should  make  a  careful  study  of  these  coun 
tries.  German  and  English  exporters  are,  as  a  rule,  more  painstaking 
in  the  selection  of  their  representatives,  securing  only  those  who  are 
acquainted  with  the  peoples  of  these  countries,  and  who  speak  the 
languages,  know  the  habits,  wants,  usages  and  customs,  and  so  win 
a  share  of  the  trade  where  American  goods  are  placed  to  a  far 
greater  advantage.' 

"THE  EEMEDY. 

' '  If  the  United  States  shall  provide  some  means  whereby  the 
younger  generations  of  the  countries  interested  may  come  together, 
intermingle,  and  become  better  acquainted  with  each  other,  as  well  as 
to  become  co-educated,  learn  the  languages,  habits,  usages  and  nccils 
of  the  various  peoples,  it  will  bring  about  the  much  to  be  desired 
trade  conditions  more  rapidly  than  any  other  conceivable  plan. 

"AMEKICA'S  OPPOETUNITY. 

"As  stated  in  the  resolution,  the  United  States  is  rapidly  becom 
ing  a  world-power.  Her  rightful  position  upon  the  Western  Hemi 
sphere  should  be,  the  '  Master  of  Commerce. '  Her  governmental  ac 
tivities  for  years  past  have  tended  along  the  lines  of  commerce. 
With  Latin-American  willing  and  anxious  to  enter  upon  more  friend 
ly  trade  relations,  affords,  we  believe,  America 's  opportunity  to  quick 
ly  achieve  her  richly  deserved  commercial  supremacy  in  the  Western 
World,  by  promulgating  and  fostering  a  Pan-American  College  of 
Commerce,  as  herein  suggested. 

"A   TEXAS   COMMISSION. 

"We  suggest  that  a  Commission  be  duly  appointed  by  the  Texas 
Legislature,  consisting  of  ten  members,  to  be  supplemented  at  any 
time  by  the  Governor,  as  may  be  required.  We  further  suggest  and 
recommend  that  such  Commission,  patriotic  in  spirit,  conduct  the 
promulgation  of  the  projected  Pan-American  College  of  Commerce  in 
such  manner  as  its  best  judgment  shall  direct. ' ' 

363 


The  report  of  the  Legislative  Committee  was  unanimously  adopted, 
and  the  following  named  persons  were  duly  appointed,  as  the  Texas 
Commissioners  for  the  Pan-American  College  of  Commerce : 

SENATOES. 

George  B.  Griggs Houston 

John  G.  Willacy Corpus  Christi 

Marshall  Hicks San  Antonio 

A.  B.  Davidson Cuero 

W.  A.  Hanger Fort  Worth 

EEPEESENTATIVES. 

John  F.  Onion San  Antonio 

W.  L.  Blanton Gainesville 

J.   L.   Peeler Austin 

E.  F.  Harris Galveston 

J.  T.  Canales Brownsville 

INDORSEMENTS. 

Hon.  J.  H.  Metcalf,  Secretary  Department  Commerce  and  Labor, 
Washington,  D.  C.,  says: 

' '  I  have  no  doubt  that  a  trade  school,  established  on  the  'lines  set 
forth  in  the  report  of  the  committee,  would  be  of  incalculable  value 
in  promoting  the  commercial,  as  well  as  the  fraternal  relations,  witli 
our  sister  Eepublics. 

' '  The  Legislature  of  Texas  is  to  be  commended  for  taking  the 
initiative  in  this  movement.  *  *  The  movement  for  establishing 

a  Pan-American  College  of  Commerce  is  timely,  and  should  receive 
the  earnest  support  of  the  whole  people. ' ' 

Dr.  H.  S.  Lehr,  of  Ohio,  one  of  the  foremost  educators  in  the 
United  States,  says: 

"There  is  much  need  for  an  institution  such  as  your  Commission 
is  promulgating.  It  would  bring  about  a  freedom  of  intercourse 
between  the  American  Eepublics,  thereby  encouraging  trade  and  de 
velopment.  It  would  have  a  tendency  to  bring  about  the  use  of  a 
common  language,  which  would  be  the  English  language,  a  com- 

364 


THE  TEXAS  COMMISSIONERS. 


APPENDIX 

mon  system  of  weights  and  measures,  a  common  currency,  common 
customs,  and,  in  time,  a  common  literature.  In  fact,  the  many 
advantages  of  such  an  institution  cannot  now  be  enumerated,  but 
will  grow  as  the  school  advances,  and  the  countries  interested  de 
velop.  The  possibilities  of  such  an  institution  are  so  great  that  one 
must  stand  in  awe  at  its  future  possibilities  and  grandeur,  as  it  looms 
up  in  imagination." 

St.  Louis  Globe-Democrat,  April  29,  1905: 

"By  and  through  the  methods  of  a  Pan-American  College  of  Com 
merce,  the  United  States  could  quickly  double  or  triple  its  commerce 
with  Latin-America,  and  establish  new  ties  to  bind  all  those  coun 
tries  with  us.  The  project  is  excellent,  and  is  worthy  the  attention 
of  the  United  States. " 

American  Exporter,  June  29,  1905 : 

11  Should  this  great  college  project  be  consummated,  it  will  quickly 
become  the  Mecca  for  the  young  merchants  of  the  Western  World, 
who  wish  to  become  schooled  in  the  needs  of  international  trade  on 
the  American  Continent." 

Further  comment  is  deemed  unnecessary,  here.  The  Texas  Com 
mission  desires  the  co-operation  of  every  citizen  of  all  the  Americas 
in  this  great  work.  In  the  United  States,  we  wish  to  press  upon 
Congress  the  importance  of  this  project,  to  the  end  that  our  National 
government  shall  take  the  necessary  steps  to  insure  its  early  consum 
mation.  Upon  behalf  of  the  Texas  Commission,  I  thank  those  good 
citizens  of  our  country  who  have  interested  themselves  in  this  project. 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  receive  communications  from  all  who  indorse  the 
ideas  herein  presented. 

Respectfully, 

GEO.  B.  GRIGGS, 

President  Texas  Commission,  Houston,  Texas. 


365 


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